


The Pink Flamingo

by keiliss



Series: The Pink Flamingo [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Arson, Awkward Conversations, Consequences, House of Ill Repute, Imladris, M/M, Second Age, dealing with royalty, flamingos with hats, public order
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-20 14:39:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 58,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6011812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keiliss/pseuds/keiliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Glorfindel's posting to Imladris should have been straightforward, a way for him to integrate into life in the Second Age while giving Elrond some much-needed assistance. None of that took into account the proprietor of the local house of ill repute, or the presence of a suspected arsonist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [red_lasbelin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_lasbelin/gifts).



> Request: _Glorfindel enforces the law in Imladris, Erestor runs a brothel. What happens next?_
> 
> For my beta and dear friend, Red. This is a work in progress, so I guess that's my swap career on hold. The rest follows. It's all your fault for giving me an impossible prompt that suddenly turned round and latched onto my throat when it was too late to write and properly edit 25 k. Stick with me, you know I'm good for it. *loves*
> 
> July: left the 25K mark behind, maybe another 20K to go. Swap fic? What was I thinking??
> 
> January: yes, definitely more than 50k. And if it doesn't move along smartish now I'll have to sit out the midyear Slashy swap again too.
> 
> March 2018: okay, total should be around 70K... really took the scenic route instead of getting straight to the point. It's beginning to feel like 'the fic that will never end' - which usually means the end is (finally) in sight. Maybe.

“That’s the third fire this month,” Glorfindel said with a frown. He had been woken with the news in the small hours of the morning and had come down to take a look for himself. The fire hadn’t been large, affecting only a storeroom and a small cabbage patch in the back of Nendir the Weaver’s combined home and shop and had been put out with water carried from the river via a well-practised bucket team. Still, somewhere in the back of his mind a sense of ‘pattern’ was forming.

Beridhren, the more senior of the night shift manning the office that week, nodded his head, also frowning. “Elen says it’s just plain carelessness, sir, but I’ve never seen so many fires in one ten-day myself.”

“And once again no one’s seen anything, right?”

“Not a thing sir, no. Suiadan’s going door to door and asking, but most people were inside long since. It’s not warm tonight, no one was sitting outside enjoying the starlight.”

“What they could see of it with all that cloud, you mean. Well the fire’s out, that’s the main thing. Who was it gave the alarm?”

“That would be Aearion next door, sir. He was on his way home when he smelt smoke.”

“Out a bit late, wasn’t he?” Glorfindel tried but couldn’t recall anything special happening at the Hall of Fire or anywhere else in the vicinity. Most of the villagers were up early, taking advantage of daylight to ply their various trades.

Beridhren stared past him at the little apple tree in the corner, all but shuffling his feet. Glorfindel put an interested expression on his face and waited. Finally, after scratching his head and giving it some thought, Beridhren said, “He’d been down the Pink Flamingo, sir. That’s what he said and I have no reason to disbelieve him. Just got paid for a commission – he’s a bit of an artist sir, sculpts quite decent animals and such...”

“I think you lost me on ‘just got paid’, Lieutenant. The Pink Flamingo?”

“Um, Master Erestor’s – place of business, sir? Right down the end of the village near the river?”

Glorfindel was starting to settle in to his new home, but even so there were almost daily reminders that he was still a newcomer. He shook his head. “Erestor - I don’t think we’ve met...?”

Beridhren started to say something but had a coughing fit instead. When he’d wiped his eyes and caught his breath he said, “I don’t suppose you have, sir. Master Erestor runs a – a business establishment? Employing young people as –" The word seemed to escape him. “As companions, sir? In a manner of speaking. Place that people visit at night and prefer not to speak of in daylight?”

Glorfindel had a memory flash of the seamier, more interesting side of Vinyamar, the part Turgon had so strenuously disapproved of. “Ahh,” he said. “ _That_ kind of establishment. Back in Nevrast we would call that a brothel.”

\-----o

His introduction to the Pink Flamingo wasn’t long in coming. The fight was nearly over by the time he arrived, although the evidence of it was scattered across the lane. Two members of his Valley Patrol were trying to separate a knot of yelling, punching elves, two of whom were members of the garrison and his concern. Urúvion, who was new to the Patrol, stood helplessly and watched as a person clad in shimmering gold straddled a howling man and began smashing him about the head. Elen, normally calm and rather staid, had a terrified civilian backed up against the wall and was shouting in his face.

A small crowd had spilled out the open doorway onto the stoop. They were in various stages of undress, several wrapped in cloaks but with suspiciously bare arms and legs, and were all pointing and chattering, shouting occasional advice to ‘Raina‘, who he guessed must be the person in gold. Heads peeked through curtains and round doorways of the adjacent houses, and an entire family had gathered in one of the gardens to watch, for all the world as though they had front row seats to a play.

The comparison gave Glorfindel a moment’s nostalgia for theatre, something that had been popular in Gondolin and thrived in the great port city of Mithlond, although he had been given very little time to enjoy it. With that memory came another, of Gil-galad smiling at him over a cup of excellent wine after a pleasant evening’s performance, all good-looking charm and Finwëan ruthlessness.

“You’ll find it a bit rough, I know. It hasn’t been settled long and it’s still expanding from a temporary garrison, but it’d be a good way for you to find your feet now you’re back with us – all praise to the Shining Ones, of course.” This was said in a perfunctory kind of way as Gil-galad was not known for his piety. “You can get your Sindarin up to speed, catch up on your history. Get a good look at current fighting methods too and help tighten them up – army of volunteers up there, mainly recruited during the War.”

He had paused to refill Glorfindel’s cup. “It can be a bit wild I hear. Elrond and I exchanged messages and he’s very happy to have you introduce a bit more structure while he gets on with expanding his settlement, or whatever it is he’s doing up there.”

Which was how he came to be in Imladris, the hidden valley in the north, with its large garrison of semi-experienced warriors and an adventurous civilian population – half were survivors of the war with Sauron, the rest had come inland from the coast, drawn by the promise of adventure this new frontier offered. Gil-galad had been right about several things, one of which was it could get rough; Glorfindel was still learning which areas were more likely to attract trouble than others.

Shaking off the memory he stepped over the splintered remains of a chair, made his way across to Elen and tapped her on the shoulder. She spun round, a fist clenched and drawn back, which she hastily dropped when she saw who it was.

“Sir, sorry sir. Thought you were one of them coming up behind me.”

“Good reflexes, Lieutenant Elen,” he told her with a nod, keeping the smile to himself. “I almost ducked. What’s this then?”

“This – this is Beinion, my brother’s friend, sir. I was asking him what in the – what he was doing down here in the first place.”

“Ah. I should have thought that was obvious.” Glorfindel allowed the smile this time. Elen had been quite passionate on the subject of the Pink Flamingo when he asked her; she had also been bright pink by the end of her monologue, either in outrage that such a place should exist in ‘her’ valley, or embarrassed that she should know anything about it. Telling her there had been similar places back in Vinyamar and it was just a part of life hardly seemed to help.

He turned his attention to the civilian, who was surreptitiously trying to get his clothing straightened out. “It’s not our business to spread gossip about citizens caught in awkward situations, sir, and as long as you weren’t breaking any laws, I’d suggest you get yourself off home to bed now. It’s late. He wasn’t breaking any laws, was he, Lieutenant?” he added, turning to her. Hopefully there was nothing about Assaulting an Official or any of that nonsense.

Elen shrugged almost sullenly. “Just to be in such a place, sir,” she began, but Glorfindel frowned at her and she said in a modified tone, “No laws broken, sir. Got hit over the head, but that wasn’t his doing. As long as Lord Elrond doesn’t go on and have it shut down, I suppose he’s done nothing but be in the wrong place on the wrong night.”

Glorfindel gestured up the road. ”Home, Beinion. Now. There’s more than enough people here as it is.”

He looked about, deciding where to intervene next. The two warriors had backed out of the fray but were still trading insults with one of the participants. “You two! Company of the Owl!” he snapped, raising his voice just a little. If you pitched it right, you could make yourself heard on a battlefield without really shouting. They shot to attention at once. “Get back up to barracks and wait for assignment. I will not have any of my men engaged in public brawling.”

“Sir, it wasn’t like that,” one of them tried. “I mean, we were here minding our own...”

Glorfindel turned right round to stare at him until he shut up. “I did not ask how it happened,” he said. “I just told you to get back to barracks. Was something not clear about that?”

“No sir.”

“Good. You had me worried about my Sindarin. Go.”

He turned his back on them as he said it. One of the rules of command was never to imply an order might not be followed through. Rather than watch them leave, he crossed his arms and stared at the smaller, but more vocal scuffle, which had been joined by a third party while his attention was elsewhere. The young person with the loose gold gown and all that billowing hair – it was hard to tell gender in this light, but the name had been female - had her victim by the hair now and was banging his head on the ground. Someone, a friend perhaps, had come to his defence and was trying to drag her off. The young officer was still watching, fascinated and in no mind to interfere. Glorfindel couldn’t say he blamed him: she looked dangerous.

Heavy tread sounded on the steps and then the Avari ambled over and stood glowering down at the mêlée. Everyone apparently knew about Master Erestor’s Avari, even Glorfindel now. Elen had described him in awed detail: big and scarred, unshakeably loyal to Master Erestor, he was to be found just inside the Pink Flamingo’s doorway during business hours, collecting the coin. He made sure order was kept inside and that fights were taken out onto the street. Which was probably how the situation had evolved tonight, Glorfindel thought.

“Ye’d best get back in there,” the Avari told Raina without much urgency. “Master be agitated, says what be that fool girl doing out there.”

He could have saved his breath for all the heed she paid. Glorfindel was about to go and enforce some peace himself when the watchers in the doorway parted hurriedly to let a figure dressed in black pass between them. He came down the short flight of steps two at a time, strode up to the girl and bent to hook a hand under her armpit. Almost casually he shoved the second man out of the way. “In the house with you, my girl. I’ll not have any of you scrapping out here like common street trollops. This isn’t Ost-in-Edhil.”

The girl hesitated for the space of about two heartbeats, then stumbled off and up from the object of her anger. “He is an absolute pig!” she declared, breathing heavily. “He beat up poor Istuion so badly he’s run for home. I wasn’t standing for that. Truly, a pig.”

“All right then, we have ways of dealing with pigs. Back inside now and get yourself tidied up.“ He had a foot resting casually on the recumbent victim’s chest while he spoke. “Raina? Now, thank you.”

She hesitated, trying to stare him down, then spun on her heel, the golden robe sparkling in the torchlight. Catching sight of the party who had tried to pull her off her quarry, she spat eloquently before tossing back her hair and heading off into the house to a round of applause from the audience on the stoop.

The elf in black turned to watch this, shaking his head. To the Avari he said, “Make a note of their faces, would you? I don’t want them back for a full moon. Istuion too.” Prodding the customer groaning under his foot he said, “Is that clear?”

The answering grunt seemed to satisfy him because he stepped back and was about to go inside when he finally noticed Glorfindel. He stopped and sketched a small bow. “Good evening, my lord. I apologise for the disturbance. It’s most regrettable.”

He had a smoky kind of voice, mellow as brandy with just the right amount of husk to be interesting without sounding put on, and a veritable cloak of black hair. Shadowed eyes considered Glorfindel, who suspected but would have been unable to prove he was being laughed at.

“Well, no one seems to be badly damaged,” he conceded, trying to match the easy tone, “but there’s still a chance someone might want to lay a complaint.” He ignored the former combatants who were watching in interest while they waited to be dismissed. The only one likely to take things further was the man on the ground who was finally sitting up, one hand gingerly exploring his head.

Elen had come up to stand just behind him. The black-clad elf, who could only be the infamous Master Erestor, keeper of this house of ill repute known as the Pink Flamingo, looked past Glorfindel and smiled at her wickedly. Glorfindel could feel Elen cringe. “You need to get this mess cleaned up,” he said quickly, before anything happened to discomfort her further, “and decide if you want to claim for damages too. If there’s anything further, send word and I’ll come by in the morning.”

Erestor favoured him with a winsome smile: in torchlight his eyes looked unnervingly amber, like a wolf’s. “We’re ready at any time to offer a warm welcome to Lord Elrond’s second in charge, my lord. I’m usually here in the afternoons. Please feel free.”

Glorfindel caught himself staring after Erestor as he went up the stairs and into the house, dark hair swinging just above the jut of his pertly rounded backside. He couldn’t be sure, but the provocative walk looked deliberate. He was about to say as much but caught sight of Elen’s trapped rabbit expression and thought better of it. She liked to be accepted as one of the boys, but there were times when she really wasn’t.

“All right then,” he said to no one in particular. “We’re done here, yes? Everyone not working, get along home. Everyone working – let’s go. The night’s young, the Hall of Fire will start emptying out soon. Let’s see if we can get there ahead of the rush.”

\-----o

Imladris was bigger than Glorfindel had been led to expect, not just a large house with some farmland down in the valley, but a vast sprawl of a housing complex in varying stages of completion plus a fair sized village and little clusters of homes dotted across the valley to serve the different types of produce being farmed in the settlement’s bid for full sustainability. Elrond told him that these days they had to import very little from the coast, adding with some satisfaction that this was as well considering the cost and the immoral taxes Gil-galad’s administrators levied on them.

The military contingent that justified the valley’s status as a garrison was based in comfortable barracks half way up the cliff with housing in the villages for families. Glorfindel soon found overseeing the assigned warriors only formed part of his duties, he was also responsible for the Valley Patrol, who sorted out problems like fights, the ‘accidental’ borrowing of horses and livestock, and saw to the removal of small crops of a weed-like substance which mysteriously sprang up on the borders of worked fields and produced a stringy leaf that could be dried, set alight in a pipe and smoked.

Elen, who took what she called ‘public order’ very seriously indeed, had been happy to explain such things in detail to her new commander.

“You light it in the bowl of a pipe, like the one you have there, sir. It has a mild narcotic effect, rather like a cup more wine than’s good for you. Or so they tell me. I wouldn’t know myself, of course.”

“And it’s bad because....?” Glorfindel had overdone it with the wine himself on a fair number of occasions. Also with the vodka, once they got settled in Gondolin. Turgon had tried to shut down all the illegal stills, wanting to keep control of the production and distribution, but he never succeeded. Nor did he ever realise Ecthelion had a still set up in his basement, which had greatly contributed to the House of the Fountain’s reputation for memorable parties.

“Lord Elrond says it’s bad for you. And it makes people act stupid and giggly and do daft things and then we have to rescue them out of trees or stop them from trying to swim the Bruinen in the middle of the night or – whatever.”

“All right, a forbidden substance. I’ll remember that.”

There was a lot to remember and new things to learn every day, like the whereabouts of the valley’s only known brothel. Imladris didn’t have anywhere near as many rules as Gondolin though, and the punishments were far less severe – no one seemed to die, at least. In what he had grown to think of as the old days, Glorfindel had done no more enforcing than was absolutely necessary for the head of one of the Great Houses; Turgon’s meticulous compulsion to order had made his teeth itch. The rules in Imladris at least made sense, being mainly about stopping people from hurting themselves, each other, or putting the valley’s security at risk.

Or setting it alight.

So far he had focused on streamlining things, which included expanding the scope of the Valley Patrol. Their office continued to be manned at all times, as it had always been, but now he sent groups of three out with orders to be visible, the first people to be approached when there was a cat up a tree, a missing youngster, a jammed door. The idea came from Gondolin, though the intent was more public-spirited than back then, when it had mainly involved spying on people for the illegal use of lamp oil.

They were learning to ignore jokes about being the Cat Patrol. Glorfindel told them cats were special, mysterious creatures and they should accept the title as a compliment. His attempt at humour was only partially successful though on the whole the changes worked well. Elrond was satisfied, and everyone seemed to like his approach or at the least find it comfortable. Even allowing for the odd brawl outside the Hall of Fire, life ran smoothly. Glorfindel had been trying to ignore the little voice that said ‘too smoothly’. After the third fire he began to suspect the voice was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beinion: handsome  
> Istuion: learned  
> Raina: gracious


	2. Chapter 2

Glorfindel's first stop of the morning before going on to his main work with the garrison was always the Patrol's headquarters, an impressive word for a big room with two closet-sized alcoves, one used mainly for storage. Today, instead of the two on-duty members and perhaps one complainant, raised voices could be heard from outside and the room was full of people all talking at once.

Elen threaded her way towards him, carrying an armful of documents and shooing people out of the way like chickens. “No, you need to wait your turn,” she snapped at someone. “You can’t bother Lord Glorfindel about this till he’s read the charges and had his tea. Go back and wait by the desk. Everybody wait in front of the desk!” 

She was shouting to make herself heard when she reached him so he got the full brunt of the final instruction. “Sorry, sir. Good morning, sir,” she added hastily, seeing him wince. “These are for you.” 

She handed over the pile of documents, all marked in her careful hand for his attention. Glorfindel glanced at them, nodded and then looked around. Gondolin had given her lords a good grounding in handling unhappy residents. He flashed a practiced, affable smile at the room in general. “Good morning everyone,” he said, pitching his voice to carry. “Let me take a look through these and I’ll be right back with you. Elen? Come and bring me up to date while I read.”

“They want you to close that place down,” Elen said with satisfaction after they’d retreated to the tiny cubbyhole that passed for his office. No need to explain what she was talking about, he could guess. Last night had seemingly been some kind of watershed, the point where people decided enough was finally enough. 

He flipped through the papers, mentally shutting out the noise beyond the tiny room. Headings that ranged from ‘people coming and going at all hours for reasons that cannot be honest’ to ‘music all night!’ sprung out at him. He put them down and gave her a severe look. “We can’t just close something down because we don’t like it, Lieutenant. They have to be breaking the law or at least contravening some kind of regulation. I’d need to see proof of that. Is there anything in these complaints that strikes you as illegal?”

Elen frowned. “Noise?” she tried. “There’s a lot about noise.”

“We’d have to see if it was louder than the Hall of Fire then,” he pointed out reasonably. “We couldn’t close them down and leave the Hall operational otherwise.”

“But there are people living in the street, sir, while the Hall…”

“Is right up against a residential section of the House.”

Their eyes met. Elen glared but Glorfindel chose to pretend not to notice that. With a heavy sigh he got up. “I’d better go and face them, try and buy some time till things calm down. I don’t think anyone’s in the mood for a reasonable discussion.”

Shrill calls for him to ‘go right now and shut that den of iniquity down’ greeted his reappearance. Glorfindel made his way to the desk where Urúvion sat trying to be invisible. One hand resting on the desk, the other still clasping the collection of complaints about the Pink Flamingo, he raised his voice above the hubbub, keeping his tone brisk and firm. “Thank you for your concerns everyone. I understand your urge for immediate action, but I need time to consider the facts. We don’t want to trample on anyone’s rights here, after all, neither yours nor Master Erestor’s. I promise to raise it in my meeting later today with Lord Elrond. I’m sure he’ll have an opinion on what’s to be done.”

\-----o

“I agree with them. It’s an absolute scandal, sir,” Elen said once the crowd had emptied out, grumbling. Her expression combined outrage with embarrassment. “A place like that here. I suppose there are such things in Mithlond, it’s a big city, but....”

“Other places too,” Glorfindel said. “I mentioned Vinyamar before, remember. Turgon liked it about as much as you do, but I’m not fond of orchestrated campaigns like this. As long as it’s all voluntary and there’s no law against it, I don’t see that it’s any of my business to judge. Some men seem to need that kind of outlet, that’s all.”

If she could have hidden her face in her hands Elen would have. “That’s hardly right, sir. And at least some of the neighbours agree with me.”

“Yes, it’s quite a collection of complaints, but we’d get as many about the Hall of Fire if it wasn’t the community’s gathering place. Honestly Elen, I’ve seen worse.” 

They were back in his alcove while Glorfindel drew up the roster for the next ten-day, adding three more warriors he had decided could be spared from the garrison. The fires bothered him; he wanted more people out patrolling at night. The window was open and he could hear the familiar sound of metal on metal, shouts, and heavy footsteps as men practised sword thrusts on the square of beaten earth outside. “How often do we get complaints about the Pink Flamingo?”

Elen gave him a hopeful look. “We get at least one a month, sometimes more? Just not in the past few weeks, not when I’ve been on duty anyhow.”

“What do you do about them?” he asked idly, moving names around so that Suiadan and Lagion did not end up sharing a watch – he had noticed a clash of personalities there.

“Do?” Elen’s round, honest face creased with momentary confusion. “Oh, if it’s a fight we go down and break it up, like last night. If it’s just about the noise, someone goes and talks to the Avari or Master Erestor. Not me,” she added hastily. “I’d not set foot in such a place. If you want to know more, you could speak with Lieutenant Beridhren.”

Glorfindel thought Beridhren had seemed almost as uncomfortable as she did when the Pink Flamingo was first mentioned. He paused while he checked his list of names to make sure he had included everyone. Drawing up this kind of roster was a new thing for him, more smaller but less flexible than patrol schedules, something he had done for a large part of his life. He found he quite enjoyed the challenge. “Not necessary, Elen. I’ve got the picture. I’ll just take it up with Elrond as promised. It’s his valley, he can decide.”

\-----o

Presented with the neighbourhood grievances and a description of last night’s uproar, Elrond read through the complaints then leaned back in his chair and laughed. “Welcome to Imladris. Yes, they’re quite eager to get Erestor moved down the valley somewhere far away from decent, hard-working folk. It’s not the first time. And it doesn’t help that he almost seems to go out of his way to upset them.”

“It was quite a night,” Glorfindel agreed, sipping his kaffee, a strange, dark beverage made from beans imported from somewhere a long way to the east. He found it hard to understand why you would brew a hot beverage so bitter it had to be sweetened with honey, but everyone was drinking it and he was determined to get used to it too. “And there’s at least one complaint a month, Elen tells me.”

They were on one of the open balconies around the house, this one framed by a newly built line of elegant arches. Elrond put the papers down on the table between them and the wind began plucking determinedly at the loose sheets. Glorfindel moved the kaffee pot onto one corner to anchor them. 

“As a healer I find it healthier for men to have an outlet for their frustrations rather than bottling them in and finding less appropriate ways to channel it.” Elrond said, giving his cup a stir. He was like a dark haired version of Tuor, with the same broad shoulders and steady hands, though his eyes spoke to Glorfindel of a very different ancestry. He was also calm and practical, surprisingly easy to get along with. “I made sure no one works there who would rather not, and I believe Erestor when he says unwilling employees would be bad for business.” He eyed the complaints and frowned. “I’d rather leave well enough alone. However, if people are this upset, something has to be seen to be done.”

“So you want me to shut the local brothel down then?” Glorfindel had learned a long time ago to be very clear about orders that had any chance of coming back to bite him.

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far, not unless things get completely out of hand,” Elrond said at once. “I’ll not have Erestor harassed without grounds, but you could suggest relocation might be in everyone’s interests. You could also find out if his land tax is paid up to date and if he has written permission to operate a business down there.”

Glorfindel blinked. “I had no idea that was necessary.... or how the ‘business’ would be defined in an official document.”

Elrond shrugged and shook his head. “It was an idea brought out of Eregion – there were zones for different kinds of craft there. Someone had the idea of introducing it here so I said we could give it a try. You have to understand, I was busy with military operations at the time and there was a lot of experimenting. The way Imladris is spread out made it impractical so the idea was dropped, but the rules were never actively rescinded – I had an idea they might be useful someday. This might be that day.”

Glorfindel remembered the amber eyes and husky, amused voice and shook his head. “As you wish. But I will be surprised if the possibility hasn’t occurred to Master Erestor as well.”

\-----o

There was no sign of the previous night’s mayhem when Glorfindel arrived at the Pink Flamingo. The double storey house dozed in the sunlight, a shaggy hedge forming a boundary between it and its immediate neighbours. In daylight he could see the neat front garden with its strip of lawn, plants in pots at the front door and the long red stoop. There were green shutters against pale yellow walls, and a pink-tinted statue of a strange, long legged bird that he took to be the flamingo itself kept watch at the end of the stoop. 

The front door stood open. It was only when he had his foot on the top step that he saw the Avari sitting just inside the doorway, a wooden trencher holding an unidentifiable meal on his knee. 

The Avari stared at him, dark eyes still and watchful. Glorfindel cleared his throat. “Sorry to disturb your lunch. I need a few words with Master Erestor? I’m...”

“We know who you be, soldier,” the Avari cut in. “He said to expect you.” He put two fingers to his lips and whistled sharply, making Glorfindel start. The air had barely stopped vibrating when a young boy came bounding round the corner and skidded to a stop. “You go tell the Master the new lord’s here to see him if it’s convenient.”

The boy shot Glorfindel a look of wide-eyed interest then tore his attention away and hurried off back the way he had come. The Avari glanced at Glorfindel and indicated a padded bench against the opposite wall, then went back to his meal. Glorfindel considered sitting but decided it looked more professional to remain on his feet. 

The boy came back after a few minutes and sketched a little bow. “Master Erestor will see you now, sir,” he told Glorfindel. “You’re to come with me.”

The boy led him through a richly draped reception area with rooms going off to either side and Glorfindel had a blurred impression of chairs and good carpeting as he passed. They went along a corridor with tapestried walls - he noticed a paint job would not go amiss and the door frames needed a good oil and wax - then down a couple of steps, past a room where he caught a glimpse of couches and a few gaming tables, and finally to a door near the back of the house. The boy knocked, hesitated, then opened it. “Lord Glorfindel, Master Erestor,” he said. 

The room was unlike the public spaces. It looked lived-in and cosy, decorated in russet shades with comfortable chairs in a half circle around a stone fireplace. There were tables with little ornaments and collections of dried grasses, a vase of fresh flowers, and tall windows opening onto a small, shrub-filled garden. He could hear the once familiar sound of a fountain, more intimate than the ever present rush of the nearby waterfall. 

Erestor sat in a chair near the unlit hearth, a large ginger cat curled up in his lap. He rose, putting the cat on the floor. It gave him a filthy look and stalked across the room to sit on the window seat that ran the length of the wall facing onto the garden. “My lord,” he said politely, gesturing towards the chair opposite his. “Please come in. Have a seat. I’ve sent for tea, I hope that’s in order?”

“Master Erestor,” Glorfindel nodded. “I won’t be staying long, there’s no need for refreshments.”

Erestor’s eyes widened. “Oh, I insist. So civilised, afternoon tea. The tradition comes from Doriath, I believe?” He sat back down smiling pleasantly, and Glorfindel had no choice but to follow suit. 

“I see you’ve got everything cleaned up outside,” he said, for wont of a way into the reason for his visit. 

Erestor raised an eyebrow. “But of course. I’d not leave that mess outside my front door. And not a moment too soon either, I believe there’s rain due. Or so one of my girls who was born not far from here tells me.”

“I haven’t lived here long enough to forecast the weather,” Glorfindel replied. He could hear his voice sounded almost gruff. Erestor put him off his stride. Something about that self-assured face with the high cheekbones and long-lashed eyes. Glorfindel found himself wondering if he was Nandor perhaps – he had never seen eyes that shade before. But the accent was Noldor... He should have asked Elrond for more background. He cleared his throat. “I suppose it’s the time of year for it, yes. Look, Master Erestor, I ...”

Erestor made a brushing motion with an elegant, long-fingered hand upon which a couple of tasteful, rather expensive rings glittered. “Erestor. Master is just for legal documents and angry neighbours.” His smile was disarming too, engaging and unexpectedly charming.

“Erestor then. Look Erestor, I’ll come straight to the point...”

A knock on the door interrupted him. Erestor beamed. “Oh, here’s Sulien with our tea. Come in, child. Put it over here on the table. Why, I had no idea we still had shortbread? Lovely. No, leave it. I’ll pour.”

Tea was poured, Erestor even put two of the little biscuits on the edge of the saucer for him, and they sat back and sipped the steaming liquid and nibbled very good shortbread. Finally Glorfindel said firmly, “I had a meeting with Lord Elrond earlier. Your name and this establishment came up.”

Erestor gave him a polite, waiting look.

“He feels that with all the complaints we’ve received lately, we need to ask you to consider relocating to somewhere less – settled – because if this keeps up there’ll be no choice but to close you down.”

“Less settled?” Erestor frowned. “You mean like down the far end of the valley where no one goes except the occasional farmer?”

“It’s very pretty down there?” Glorfindel suggested. “It’s where I go riding when I have time to myself. You could build something with a good view of the river and...”

“... and somehow there’ll be enough passing trade to keep the business going? Really? And build a house - how? Do I look like a builder?”

They stared at one another. Glorfindel caught himself glancing up and down, confirming that Erestor indeed did not look like an artisan, not with all that shining hair and smooth, fair skin at any rate. “Well the only other alternative his lordship gave me was...”

“You can’t close us down,” Erestor cut in. “I own this house fair and square, fully paid for, and my papers are in order.”

“Papers?” He knew what was coming next but had to ask anyhow.

“Papers, of course yes. Everything was very formal and by the book when we got here, though it’s loosened up a lot since. Which is more than I can say for my neighbours. I have permission to run a business out of this house, of an entertainment and relaxation nature. And if we don’t offer relaxation and the odd bit of entertainment – some of it very odd, I’ll grant you – then I don’t know who does.”

“And your taxes are all up to date too, aren’t they?” Glorfindel said, finishing the second biscuit. They were excellent, very buttery with a faint hint of orange, although he had not seen a single orange since his return from Aman.

“Of course my taxes are up to date.” Erestor was outraged. “And I would still like to know who calculates that obscene amount. But yes, paid at year’s end, as always.”

“I told Lord Elrond I’d be very surprised if that wasn’t the case,” Glorfindel admitted. He felt a faint glow of satisfaction and hoped it wasn’t showing. At that moment movement in the garden caught his eye. A young woman came into view, busily tidying up her hair. She seemed to be wearing a few drapes of diaphanous material and an array of glittering bracelets and chains. There was a lot of flesh on view. He felt his mouth drop open and closed it firmly. 

“Alya,” Erestor said helpfully. “Such a graceful girl. She’s a lovely dancer, you know. I’ve suggested she try her luck in Mithlond eventually. They have some excellent dance troupes.”

“She’s wearing – um - .”

Erestor turned to have a look just before Alya vanished around the corner. “Oh, the veils. It’s an eastern concept. They have wonderful ideas over there for this kind of thing. That’s quite respectable you know, everything’s covered. Well, as long as she doesn’t stand with the light behind her. I’ve worn less.”

“She’s not going off the premises like that, is she?” Glorfindel asked hastily. “I can think of a couple of your neighbours who would be really upset. At least two families have young children.”

“They shouldn’t be this close to the river then,” Erestor said. “It’s very damp in winter. And no, of course she’s not trotting off down the road like that, but the client she’s waiting for likes his friend for the afternoon to greet him at the entrance.”

Glorfindel stared at him. “You’re not serious.”

“Clients are business,” Erestor said placidly, “and I am always serious about business. More tea, my lord? And how about more shortbread? It really is rather good, isn’t it?”

“I haven’t tasted anything even faintly orange since I arrived, not even in Mithlond.” 

Erestor looked satisfied. “It’s my cook’s special recipe, she uses a concentrated cordial imported from the south – I know this because it’s not cheap. She makes a lovely orange cake too. Perhaps I can tempt you to call again?”

Glorfindel tried to give him an Official look. “I’ll be back round here if there’s any more complaints or disturbances like last night. That’s not acceptable. You may have your paperwork in order and your taxes up to date, but if enough people are inconvenienced, that won’t be enough. Lord Elrond would feel impelled to act for the public good, no matter how unfair you might find it.”

Erestor shook back his hair. Intricate blue earrings jiggled and glinted against the black. “Yes, I know. Banished to the end of the valley. If you saw my client list, you’d know how very inconvenient that would be. Not many would be happy to go so far out of their way for an hour or two of pleasure. “

“Then you know what to do,” Glorfindel told him, He tried to make the shortbread last this time instead of eating it in three bites. 

Erestor smiled at him. “Poor Medlin is just one person, you know. But he does his best. You wouldn’t like to loan me a couple of your men, just to keep order at the entrance?”

Presumably Medlin was the Avari. The name suited him. It was Glorfindel’s turn to slant an eyebrow at Erestor now. “A couple of Lord Elrond’s warriors, keeping the peace at a brothel? Somehow I think not.”

“I’m sure Elrond would rather have the peace kept. He was never too fussed about conventions, you know.”

“He may not be, but I am,” Glorfindel said firmly. “No warriors. You’ll just have to keep your clients in order yourself.”

Erestor sighed. “Ah well. I suppose there’s more than one use for a whip, isn’t there?”

\-----o

He told Elrond the outcome of his meeting with Erestor, and the Lord of the Valley had another good laugh. For some reason the controversy over the Pink Flamingo seemed to amuse him. “Yes, rather as I expected,” he said. “He’s altogether too organised to make simple mistakes like that. Still, keep an eye on things, Glorfindel. I’m willing to be progressive and lenient, but if things start getting out of control, something will have to be done.”

“Not a military guard to help with crowd control, I’m guessing though,” Glorfindel hazarded.

Elrond grinned. “Somehow, no. I don’t think so. As you said, he’ll just have to find a solution to this himself. Now. What happened about the dispute over grazing land north of the barley fields?”

Glorfindel had the impression Elrond and Erestor knew each other rather better than the situation suggested. The feeling was strong enough that he thought it wise not to ask for the full story; never poke a hornets’ nest with a short stick unless you’re willing to get stung.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alya: rich  
> Medlin: bear-like


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slower than planned. Blame RL.

The next fire started in the village, in one of the narrow alleyways that ran between the newer rows of houses. Homes were clustered together there, with space at a premium, and most of the buildings were of quick-burning wood and drywall; brick was costly and restricted to Elrond’s house and community structures. Two houses were destroyed and a third started to catch but was at the end of the row, close to a well, and the bucket chain soon damped it down. 

They considered the blackened walls and staring windows in silence. Finally, Elen said quietly, “That’s the worst so far, sir. It’s a miracle no one was killed.”

“What about injuries?” Glorfindel asked. Frustratingly he had been elsewhere – getting reports from a newly returned military scouting party, in fact – and had only just arrived.

Elen rubbed her forehead with sooty fingers, leaving a grey streak. She had helped fight the fire and looked it, her clothing was marked and her pale hair was escaping from its usually severe ponytail. “One girl has a broken leg and fractured ribs, sir. Got them jumping out an upper level window. The rest are multiple burns, some worse than others. One of the children is quite bad but they say he’ll survive: Lord Elrond’s attending to him personally.” She dug around in her tunic pocket while she was talking. “I wrote the names down, if you need them?”

He unclenched his fist and flexed his fingers. It was no use getting angry, anger got in the way of clear thinking. “No, no, that’s not necessary, Lieutenant. Make sure they go in the report though. And no one saw anything? Again.” 

“Not so far, sir, though we’ve got people out asking questions right through the village.”

Glorfindel nodded. “I suppose there’s no chance it was just a bad accident? A candle knocked over or something along those lines?”

Elen shook her head, her face troubled. “I don’t think so, sir. It’s broad daylight, there was nothing being cooked, and it’s a warm day, no reason to have a hearth fire that might burn out of control – not that I’ve ever seen that happen here anyhow. There are rules about insulation in the new houses too.”

Suiadan, a wiry, dark-haired officer who always looked as though he should be carrying a bow, nodded. “Alagos knows a bit about fires,” he said. “He reckons it started in the alley behind the second house.”

“A fire expert? I want to talk with him about that then,” Glorfindel said. “Send him to me later. Perhaps he can see a pattern or throw some light on what might drive someone to do this.”

Glorfindel had seen a city burn. He was not sure he would be able to understand.

\-----o

Leaving Elen in charge of the investigation, Glorfindel returned to the business of the day. This involved a return trip to the barracks for a quick talk with his second in command about setting up war games. These were not a regular experience for this modern army, but had been a yearly event in that other hidden valley that was once his home. Glorfindel liked Imladris, he had been comfortable there from the start and settled in quickly and easily. He liked the mountain air and the soft light, the sometimes unlikely mix of people and Elrond’s light but unmistakeable authority. Sometimes though he wondered how that motley crew of warriors had ever managed to wage war on Sauron’s easterners. 

After that, he stopped by at one of the vegetable vendors to apologise for some high spirits on the part of a couple of junior officers, who were now due to remain junior officers for some time, followed by a short conversation with Denesion the Jeweller, also from Gondolin though they had next to nothing in common beyond that fact. Then he had to avoid Lady Menelwen, whose husband was on Elrond’s Council of Advisors, and who had a daughter... he had learned early in life to be careful of determined women with daughters. A smiling wave while he turned down a side path he had never followed before dealt with that. 

He was lucky for a change, the path took him directly down to the river, his intended destination. He found he liked walking alongside the rushing water, letting his thoughts float free and order themselves at the end of a long day. Someone always interrupted him eventually, of course, and this time it was one of the youngsters the Patrol used as informal runners who came, full of self-importance, to call him up to the office. All he knew was it was an emergency and to do with the fires. Glorfindel hurried.

He arrived to find both the current and previous shift gathered in the office and a young, worried-looking boy seated in the chair to the side of the main desk, the one usually reserved for miscreants. 

“All right, what’s going on? What are you all doing here? Aren’t your shifts long enough?”

“Two people in the village saw this one running away from the fire, sir,” Beridhren said, pointing at the young man. “Ineslei called out to him to find out what he was up to, but he never answered. His name’s Alfrinor, sir. One of Master Erestor’s – um – employees.”

Glorfindel folded his arms and considered the boy carefully. He had pale yellow hair and wide blue eyes, and looked very young. The best word to describe him was pretty. “Well, Alfrinor?” he asked. “That’s your name, is it? What were you doing on the opposite side of the village to where you live, and why did you run?”

The boy shook his head. Glorfindel thought he might burst into tears. “I did nothing wrong sir,” he said in a shaky voice. “I was just late, that’s all. That’s why I was running. I had nothing to do with the fire. I didn’t even know there was a fire.”

“That’s nonsense,” Beridhren snapped. “It was well underway by then, Ineslei told me. Don’t lie to his lordship. Tell us what you were doing down there.”

“All right, Beridhren,” Glorfindel said mildly. “No need to shout, is there Alfrinor? We just need a little clarity. Now, where were you going?”

“Just – going, sir. Nowhere in particular. Just didn’t have a lot of time before I had to be back so...”

The main office had a couple of desks, a stand with pigeonholes for documents, some chairs, with the corner by the desk set aside to question suspects. Up until now the worst they had dealt with had been fights that ended in serious injuries. Now he finally saw the need for what had been employed back in Gondolin, a specific room set aside for questioning detainees.

“First you said you were late, now you tell me you weren’t going anywhere in particular?” 

“I had nothing to do with the fire, sir,” the boy said in a forlorn voice. 

He might have said more but at that moment the door, half ajar, opened all the way with a thud and a not very tall but very angry elf strode into the office, coming to a halt before Glorfindel in a swirl of red-lined cloak. Amber eyes fixed Glorfindel in an angry stare. “What exactly is this about?” Erestor asked in a voice that dripped ice. “Why are you holding Alfrinor here?”

“We have reason to believe young Alfrinor knows something about the fire that was started in the village, down Hoarelm Street,” Beridhren said. 

Erestor ignored him and continued staring at Glorfindel, who fought down an irrational sense of discomfort and said, “Afternoon, Master Erestor. I’m afraid he was seen running from the scene and so far all he’ll tell us is he was late but he wasn’t going anywhere. You can see how that would look.”

Erestor gave the boy the barest of glances before looking around. “Is this audience necessary?” he asked. “I’d hardly be inclined to tell you anything with them hanging on my every word either.”

Glorfindel hesitated, but there was sense in that. “All right. Last shift, get along home now please,” he said, raising his voice. “And the rest of you need to get on with your work. At least some of you are meant to be patrolling the town, not feeding your curiosity here.”

There was a discernible hesitation but the off duty shift made its way reluctantly out the door and after a hurried consultation over the duty roster, the current shift went out to start walking their designated route around the house and village. Glorfindel looked at Erestor’s closed face and then at Beridhren and newly-arrived Elen whose expression implied she had found out all she needed to know on her way in. He sighed. “Go get some air, Elen. Beridhren, you stay here. And I need to speak to Elrond about space, I knew from the start this open office wasn’t ideal and the store room’s too small to be of any use.”

Elen was a good soldier and obeyed orders, but her walk was stiff, radiating annoyance. Glorfindel gave Erestor a steady look. “No, I am not questioning anyone without at least the duty officer present. Now, can we get on with this?”

Erestor pulled a face and then shrugged. “Alfrinor, tell Lord Glorfindel what you were doing. Just the basic details, thank you.”

Alfrinor hesitated. Erestor gave him a frustrated look. “For the love of mercy, just tell him and get done with it, child. I don’t have all day. Right now I am giving you permission to breach client confidentiality. You have one chance, after which I will assume you had other reasons for being where you were and you will become Lord Glorfindel’s problem, not mine.”

Alfrinor threw him a horrified look and said quickly, the words almost falling over themselves, “I was on my way to see – to see the client? And I saw the fire and wanted to get out of sight in case someone recognised me and guessed where I was going or - or followed me?”

“You aren’t important enough for someone to follow if you’re not running,” Erestor told him grimly. “Go on, his lordship wants to know who it was. ‘A client’ wouldn’t be good enough for me and I doubt it is for him either?” Glorfindel, who was starting to think he had been forgotten, nodded but kept quiet. The boy would be more forthcoming if he was explaining himself to Erestor rather than an outsider to their world.

Alfrinor said, barely above a mumble, “I was on my way to Councillor Veassen’s house for my lunchtime appointment. The lane I always take comes out just below it. I thought – I thought it might be obvious...?”

Glorfindel realised he and Beridhren must look like mirror images of disbelief at that moment, eyes wide and mouths slightly agape. He shut his hastily. “...Veassen?” he asked. To his relief his voice came out surprisingly normal. “You don’t mean...”

“Yes, of course he does,” Erestor snapped. “Just because someone acquires a senior position doesn’t mean their bits fall off. He feels a little awkward about visiting us, so Alfrinor goes up there once a week during the day instead. Please feel free to go and ask him.”

Veassen was Elrond’s highly respected and respectable Senior Advisor in relation to matters of trade and inter-realm cooperation. His wife had suffered an unfortunate accident, so Glorfindel was told, and had sailed West some years previous. 

“Also,” Erestor went on relentlessly, “if any of you had bothered to take a good look at him, there isn’t a trace of soot on the child. Cleanest fire maker in history, if that was his work. Be sensible.”

Glorfindel took a good look, as invited, and had to admit the boy did not look as though he had been anywhere near a fire. A bit grubby, somewhat dishevelled, but clean of soot and with no smell of smoke about him. A firm talk all round about not jumping to conclusions, no matter how promising, was in order. Again. “All right,” he said at last. “His reasons for running off and not explaining himself make some kind of sense if that’s where he was going. As there’s nothing else to tie him to the fire, I’m willing to accept it and not bother Councillor Veassen on the subject. Do you agree, Lieutenant Beridhren?”

Beridhren blinked. “Councillor Veassen,” he muttered in a bemused voice. “And that little thing. Who’d a thought? I mean yes sir, agreed. I’m sure that’s all right.”

The boy gave Erestor a look of vast relief. Erestor glared at him. “Of all the stupid things to do – running. Good grief. You never, ever run.” Not a trace of the previous ice in sight, he favoured Glorfindel with one of those charming smiles that showed off the faint dimples in his cheeks and the way his eyes tilted up just so at the corners. “Thank you for trusting my word, that was very good of you, my lord. May we leave now?”

“Leave? Yes, of course. No, wait.” Glorfindel regained control of the situation before they could walk out the door. “You didn’t see anyone else when you were running, did you, Alfrinor? Anyone who might have seemed out of place at the time?”

Pale silky hair swayed in a vigorous shake. “No one, sir. At least I don’t think so. If I do think of anyone, I’ll tell Erestor. Will that be all right?”¬

Erestor was checking the corner of the nearby desk for dust and threw them an absent-minded smile. Glorfindel frowned at him. “Yes, that’ll be fine. Anything that comes back to you at all. People were hurt in that fire. We need to find whoever set it before something worse happens.”

“We’ll tell you if we have anything to share,” Erestor said, gesturing the boy ahead of him towards the door. “And really, now you’ve increased the numbers of the Patrol – and not a moment too soon, it seems - you need to talk to Elrond about moving you somewhere with a bit more space. And less dust.”

\-----o

“Well if it wasn’t the boy, who was it?” It was the first time Elrond had spoken sharply to him and Glorfindel wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Turgon could be coldly sarcastic; he thought he preferred this direct irritation. He shook his head and spread his hands.

“Damned if I know, and not through want of trying. We’ve been going door to door asking if anyone’s seen anything, but it’s useless. People don’t believe someone they know could do this, they focus on trying to remember if they saw a stranger instead.”

“And we’re not looking for a stranger, are we?” Elrond said. “We’re looking for someone who lives here, one of us. Maybe not someone who’s lived here from the start, but still, not some wandering tinker. Not here.”

“A wandering tinker?” Glorfindel wrinkled his brow, the phrase was somehow familiar and yet not.

Elrond waved it away impatiently. “Not part of your experience yet, no. They travel from place to place, selling small items like pots and knives, offering to fix things. In some places they’re almost common. That’s the kind of person who’s always first suspect.”

Glorfindel nodded, trying the shape of this new idea and rather liking it. Travelling from place to place, exploring the land, had always appealed to him. He had thought Middle-earth would be like that when they left Valinor, but somehow his life had never grown that way.

“So. Your next choice?” Elrond was not one to be sidetracked.

Glorfindel looked out the window behind his new lord, at the rising cliffs and the mountains ranked above them, some of them snow-capped through the entire year, a scene like and yet utterly unlike Gondolin. There were clouds today and the wind had got up, but it was still a pretty sight out there, one he was becoming very fond of. “We keep asking and listening. And I suppose we wait for the next fire. And hope this time we’re quicker than before.”

Elrond shook his head but murmured assent. “I don’t suppose you can do much else. Erestor’s boy doesn’t remember seeing anything else, I presume?”

“Erestor said they’d be in touch if he did. Did I do the right thing there? I took him at his word...”

“And haven’t even told me the name he mentioned, I notice,” Elrond said with his first smile of the afternoon. “That’s good. I like a man who can respect a confidence. Yes, if he says they’ll come back to you, they will. And if he corroborated the boy’s story...”

“You’ve implied before that would be enough for you, yes,” Glorfindel said. He toyed with the edge of his cloak for a few moments, eyes on the mountain outline. “Erestor – he’s originally from Mithlond then? You give the impression of knowing him fairly well.” He hoped that was discreet enough.

Elrond stared at him then laughed briefly. “No, he's not that young. Erestor’s originally from Nargothrond. And no I’m not a former client. He brought his business here from Eregion during the war, there were about half a dozen companions, as he likes to call them – yes, I know, there are any number of euphemisms for the word ‘prostitute’ and they all mean the same. I wasn’t turning any refugees away and anyhow this started as a military refuge... Somehow the issue of this becoming a civilian settlement and them still being here never entered my mind at the time. They did their part keeping morale up during the siege, so I’m not about to sit in judgement.”

“I see,” said Glorfindel, who mainly didn’t but could sense further questions would be unwelcome. As it turned out there was no time for them anyhow as Máfortion, Elrond’s aide, a tall skinny elf of indeterminate age, came in to remind him he was due to discuss the formation of trade guilds and most of the invited participants had already arrived. 

Elrond tidied his hair and put on his coat. “I set these things up and only remember later.”

“And wonder what in the Void you’d been thinking at the time,” finished the former lord of the House of the Golden Flower.

Elrond gave him an almost startled look and then laughed. “Yes, you would know. Exactly that. Well, good luck with everything we covered. And especially our arsonist. I’d like that sorted out as soon as is humanly possible – all else aside, we’re expecting a visit from the king in the near future. That is not something I need him running into.”

“It wouldn’t play well, no,” Glorfindel agreed, rising also.

Elrond gave him a sombre look. “My main concern is he’d probably be quite taken with the mystery, want to stay here and try solve it himself. I’m very fond of my cousin, but in small doses. Way too much energy. Please spare me that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Veassen: vigour :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unplanned pause while dealing with life. Back on the horse!

Glorfindel’s next ten day work cycle was spent away from the valley with one of the security patrols, getting a feel for the change of season up on the moorlands beyond Imladris. He took along a couple of Nandor from the area and they pointed out the places where snow would cause problems and how the improvised shelters were less help than they should be. He made notes, most of them mental, asked questions, and did a lot of careful listening. There was a good deal of riding in high wind and occasional rain, a lot of sleeping rough, and he enjoyed every minute of it.

His return was busy, with a debriefing session followed by a report back from the Patrol, who had settled nicely into the more extensive set of rooms he had convinced Elrond to move them to just before he left. These were on the other side of the training ground and conveniently nearer to the main house. Eventually he was left in peace at his desk – the same old one – in his new office to start writing up his notes and add them to the outline of changes he still wanted to make. He sometimes felt awkward about the number of new ideas he was bringing in, but they seemed to be working and no one had complained where it would make any difference.

It was after dark when he finished. He missed the dinner bell, but Elen brought him a plate and kept coming in and hovering till he ate. He finally pushed his lists away and stretched heartily. “Enough for tonight,” he said out loud, then smiled to himself, hoping whoever was outside hadn’t heard. He tidied his desk – old habits never died – and slung his cloak over his shoulders. Snuffing the lamp, he went through to the main office where two members of the Patrol were in a corner playing chess and the duty sergeant sat reading. They all glanced up but Glorfindel shook his head and gestured for them to carry on.

Before leaving, he took a good look around, impossible earlier with the room full of people, all vying for his attention. Everything was neat and orderly, right down to the potted plant in the corner by the window. Someone had put a rough map of Imladris up on the wall while he was away. He went over, curious, and stood with hands clasped behind his back, studying the little red triangles that had been inked in with a careful hand. It took a moment to realise they marked the sites of the fires. Someone was showing initiative, either that or an offbeat decorating sense. He tried to find a pattern of some kind, but there was still none - nothing obvious at any rate.

Shaking his head, he turned away and went out into the cool night air. A walk was in order after all that paperwork, he decided. In the last ten days he had almost lost the habit of being cooped up indoors. He picked a direction at random and set off. After a brisk walk that took him past the back of the kitchens and through a small, partly enclosed garden he didn’t recognise, he was surprised to come out alongside the Hall of Fire. Standing in its shadow he could hear the clear strains of a harp and had a sudden yen for people and music and normal, pleasant things. 

There was no one near the door, so he could help himself unnoticed to a cup of wine from the table near the entrance and look around for a seat somewhere away from the crowd near the hearth, who were mainly people he knew and would have to talk with. He seldom had time to spend here, and even when he could get away he was given little chance to sit quiet and listen to music. That luxury belonged to another place and time entirely.

He crossed the Hall, a broad space made intimate by little clusters of chairs and alcoves normally taken up by people playing chess or creating music of their own, and found an unoccupied bench in a dim corner. Sitting, he sampled the wine and looked around. This evening’s performance was something out of the ordinary, and if he had not already realised this, the comparative silence and the rapt attention focussed on the harpist would have told him. Just as he was about to look away, a figure sitting in shadow turned and a flash of eyes caught and held him. With a start he realised it was Erestor. Unsure what he should do, he nodded. Erestor raised his cup in a silhouette of a salute then returned his attention to the music. After a moment Glorfindel did the same.

Notes cascaded soft as starlight, strong as falling water, each note separate and yet part of a whole. A clear, pure voice joined the harp and Glorfindel sat entranced, the still figure in the shadows forgotten. When at last the great saga came to an end, he was startled to find himself still in the Hall of Fire and the night possibly not moved on near as far as it felt. Light background music replaced the harper’s brilliance and voices began rising and falling again, a buzz broken by laughter and the occasional shout. 

“He has an exceptional voice, hasn’t he?”

Erestor sat down on the other end of the bench, drawing his dark robes about him before raising the cup to his lips. Glorfindel was momentarily startled, he was observant and not often taken by surprise. Away from the deeper shadow, he could see Erestor’s black hair had been worked into a number of fine braids that hung down on either side of his face, the rest drawn back and up. It made his eyes look wider, his mouth softer. 

“I’ve not heard his like in a long time,” he said, the social training of centuries taking over before the pause grew too long. “It was pure chance I was here, and I’d have been sorry to miss it. Do you know who he is?”

Erestor looked interested. “That is a piece of good luck then. His name’s Lindir, and he says there is no truth in the rumour that he can trace his ancestry back to Daeron.”

“He’s Sindar then? In Gondolin they had a name for being gifted with music. They craft songs as we’re supposed to craft artefacts.”

“Well, we had Maglor,” Erestor pointed out, the corner of his mouth quirking into the beginning of a smile. “Though I’ve heard it said that’s the best we’ve produced as musicians go.”

“We had more than a few good ones in Gondolin.” Glorfindel was instantly defensive, though he would have been the first to admit - to himself at least - that there had been a terrible lot wrong with Gondolin. Still, there were so few left to speak for his city or for that singular culture.

Erestor made a graceful, placating gesture. “As we did in Ost-in-Edhil. Near the end it had become quite the place for new fashions, the latest in music and art. The Lady – Lady Galadriel - encouraged that, of course. She had a lot of influence on account of Celebrimbor not having a wife.” He took another sip of wine. “Not even a regular boyfriend. Creativity with a very narrow focus, that was. As a race I think we’ve produced any number of decent musicians, but only Maglor is ever named in the same breath as the Sindar masters.”

“Did you ever hear him?” Glorfindel asked, curious.

“Not likely,” Erestor said with a lopsided smile. “Too young. I was born in Nargothrond. You must have though.”

He pushed memories of childhood in Aman down firmly. It was a long time ago, best to let it be water under the bridge. “I knew him yes. We were all young once. And I was there the first time he performed the Noldolantë. That’s not something I’d ever forget.”

“Ah.” Erestor’s voice was quiet, almost reverent. “That would be an experience. I’ve heard it done, of course, but those who know say the lack is always there.”

“I suppose from someone younger, like Lindir, it would be a quite different interpretation. Lighter and perhaps more technical?” It was like being back in Turgon’s Grand Salon, a lord of Gondolin discussing the arts with a fellow courtier.

Dark eyebrows rose, widening the amber eyes. “Perhaps, but I think that one’s the exclusive province of Noldorin artists. Though it would be interesting to hear what he made of it.”

“It would, yes. I wasn’t thinking.” He smiled wryly, had more wine. “Do you come here often?”

He heard the words come out of his mouth in something like horror. Erestor pretended to consider them seriously, then gave up and sputtered with laughter. “You didn’t really say that, did you? Oldest pick up line ever?”

“I’m afraid so. I’d apologise but it’d only make it worse.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” Erestor’s smile was wicked, but then he sobered. “Now and again? I like to be at the house at night to make sure things run smoothly but when there’s something special on I take a few hours for myself. And sometimes I just feel like sitting anonymously in a corner for an hour or so. Notoriety can be exhausting. You?”

Glorfindel released the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding and relaxed a little. He was enjoying this surprisingly normal, civilised exchange and had no wish to give offense. “Not often. I’m usually busy at night one way or another, and I don’t know who to look out for or how to find out when there’s a special performance, like tonight.”

“There’s a weekly list just inside the main entrance to the house. I check it when I have the chance. But like you, I generally work nights.” 

His expression was deadpan though his eyes sparkled mischief, and Glorfindel wasn’t sure how to respond. Not that he had an issue with Erestor’s line of work – he could see Elrond’s point about it being good for stress and dealing with other frustrations – but it was all a bit outside of his experience. His mother would have been as horrified as Elen. He became aware Erestor was watching him, not covertly but with a thoughtful curiosity. He changed the subject. “I suppose you found Imladris very different from Ost-in-Edhil in the beginning.”

“Not just in the beginning.” Erestor laughed softly, he had a good laugh, warm and intimate. “It’s its own world, isn’t it? I like it, though it’s still no rival to Ost-in-Edhil - nor is Mithlond if I’m honest. It was a place like no other, full of innovation and ideas that didn’t survive the sack. Much as I imagine you feel about Gondolin?”

“Pretty much sums it up, yes. You weren’t there, were you? At the end, I mean?” Despite what Elrond might have said, Glorfindel found it hard to believe this urbane, graceful man had encountered Sauron’s army and survived. 

Erestor hesitated, his face momentarily still, then said. “I was there. We were lucky more than anything else. Trying for Eriador was just an educated guess. We spent a long time wandering before one of Elrond’s patrols picked us up. Fortunately, they kept an eye out for lost refugees, and even more fortunately they found us before the siege so we weren’t trapped outside. Many of those who didn’t make it in time, died – city people, not trained to fend for themselves.”

Glorfindel thought of the barren landscape covered by Imladrian patrols and nodded. “Not much to live on, no. I hadn’t thought of that. So you got here before the eastern army and set up business as before? I suppose it was like that for some of the survivors from my own city.” He thought of Denesion, still sullenly resentful of life, still making his broaches and bracelets with no more brilliance than he had in Gondolin.

“It wasn’t...” Erestor began, then a look almost of resignation crossed his face and he subsided, returning to his wine cup. Glorfindel saw he was using it as a shield, rather like buffing armour or sharpening a knife.

“Wasn’t what?”

A drinking game had started up nearby with a chorus of voices unevenly counting down loud enough to drown out his words, and he thought Erestor might pretend not to hear. Instead he spoke quietly but in such a way that his voice carried clearly under the noise. “It wasn’t my business then, but she – the owner - was killed in the fighting so I stayed with them because I could hunt and knew – hoped – there’d be others in Eriador and that they’d join forces eventually. I’d have been safer alone but I couldn’t just leave them. There was no way to reach the passes of the Ered Luin and Malgalad’s Wood was out of reach – the snows over the Hithaeglir made as good a barrier as any armed guard.”

“Galadriel went there though, didn’t she? To the Wood.” Glorfindel still struggled to keep recent history straight; Endórë’s near past was a bit like a story in a book for him.

Erestor nodded. “She went there with the little girl, but that was because the dwarves let them pass through their realm under the mountain. The rest of us had to make do as best we could... I think someone’s looking for you?”

He followed where Erestor gestured and saw Beridhren in the more brightly lit part of the Hall, looking around. “Damn, what’s wrong now?”

“I like that you made them standardise what they wear. Before, you couldn’t tell if someone was with the Valley Patrol, an off duty warrior looking for a free fuck, or the local butcher,” Erestor said approvingly.

“They should be easy to identify when people need....” He processed what Erestor had just said and blinked hard. “Really?”

Erestor’s laugh was soft, barely audible above the noise from the drinkers. “Trust me, the Pink Flamingo has heard every excuse ever dreamed up. Go, he’s about to leave. He looks worried.”

Glorfindel regained a sense of urgency and got to his feet. “It’s been – interesting, Master Erestor.”

“Who’d have thought we had so much in common?” Erestor agreed with a contented smile. “I’ve enjoyed our conversation, my lord. I hope you have a peaceful night.”

\-----o

The ‘urgent’ matter turned out to be less pressing than it had seemed, but it put an effective end to that night’s socialising. Life settled back into a routine. People lost cats and cloaks and the occasional child, there were a few minor incidents and a not so petty case of cattle theft which turned into a heated disagreement over the ownership of the animals – a garbled account of a sale that was not really a sale at all - and had to be sorted out by rounding up the neighbours and getting their consensus on the rightful owner. Glorfindel found the recreational list, as it called itself, and stopped by the Hall of Fire more often, but his visits never seemed to coincide with Erestor’s short breaks and there were no other places their paths were likely to cross. They both went on working nights. The red triangles on the map in the office remained unchanged: there were no more fires.

\-----o-----

Tracking down lost animals had long been one of the Patrol’s informal jobs, but when there was a suggestion said animals had not strayed unaided, they were officially called in. Not that the elves of Imladris stole from each other of course, but some people had a more general approach to communally-held possessions than was good for them. The call came in the early evening and Glorfindel rode down the valley with the two officers available at the time. It was a chilly night of heavy cloud and the smell of rain on the air, and the situation was unlikely to need more than the two of them, but he had spent the better part of the day studying reports and maps and wanted the exercise.

They were passing through the first of the little settlements beyond the village, a cluster of houses lit by rough lanterns hanging over doorways, when they were hailed urgently by a harassed-looking woman with two excited children in tow. The missing horse was unlikely to leave Imladris, which meant there was no real rush, so of one accord they slowed their horses and trotted over to her.

“What’s the trouble here?” Urúvion asked brusquely. “We’ve urgent business down the valley right now.” This was not strictly true, but was likely to hurry the story along.

The woman straightened up and glared at him, the light from a nearby lantern picking up the rich chestnut of her hair. “Not so urgent as this, young man --- Tegalad, be quiet while we’re talking.”

The taller of the children had got a good look at Glorfindel and was speaking animatedly to his sibling. The woman followed their eager stares and became aware she was dealing with more than just the regular members of the Patrol. “Oh my lord, we do need help here,” she exclaimed, trying to get past Urúvion’s horse to reach him. “I was at my wit’s end, there was no one to send...”

“What’s your name, Mistress?” Glorfindel asked, motioning Urúvion out the way. It was always good to get names first, he’d noticed Elen doing it and the sheer normalcy seemed to calm people down. “And who do you have to send for?” He focused on her, giving her his full attention. Personally he found few things more off-putting than being listened to with only half an ear.

“If it had only happened earlier, but – apologies, my lord, I am called Thenidiel. My family farms vegetables down here, good root vegetables mainly though there are cabbages as well and salad greens for the table.” She caught herself, cleared her throat. “Anyhow, that’s no matter now. My neighbour, she’s had a bad fall, broke her leg in two places. The healer’s busy setting it but she’s in a lot of pain and keeps asking for Gondien, her son – he’s all she has, her man died in the escape from Ost-in-Edhil.”

“And of course the son’s not here,” Glorfindel said with a nod. It was the way life worked. He hoped this wasn’t one of the garrison men and out on patrol, it would mean a long, dark ride.

Thenidiel shook her head hard. “Not a sight of him, my lord. Been gone since around sunset already and none of the men available to send after him.”

Glorfindel frowned. “Where has he gone? It’s not a very big valley when you think about it. Is he with the garrison?”

She shook her head and looked uncomfortable. “I’m not even sure how you describe it, my lord. It’s a place he often goes, somewhere for gentlemen to relax and enjoy some entertainment I’ve heard said, though I know no one else who goes there. Those from Eregion – they’re not like us, my lord.”

Glorfindel knew with an absolute certainty what she would say, but he asked anyhow. “Do you know the name of this place where gentlemen go to relax, or whereabouts it is?”

“It’s up in the village, my lord,” she said, sounding relieved to see the problem was about to be taken up by someone with real authority. “I could not tell you where exactly - Tegalad, stop bothering that horse, it’ll be your own fault if it bites you. Sorry, my lord, he’s just excited. They only get to see the work horses up close as a rule. Not the address, no, I don’t know the village well beyond the market square. But I believe it’s down by the river. Strange name it has too – the Pink Flamingo.”

Urúvion made a choking sound and his partner grinned. Glorfindel studied the sky for a moment and concealed a sigh. He was sure this would be less straightforward than it seemed at first glance. “All right,” he said at last. “You two get on and see about the horse, and make sure you write up a tidy report for Lord Elrond. He needs to know when this sort of thing happens. And I’ll go rescue Gondien from his evening’s entertainment at the Pink Flamingo.”

He had rather hoped for an excuse to run into Erestor again after the evening in the Hall of Fire, but clearly he lacked imagination. Going to the Pink Flamingo in search of one of its patrons had not been top of mind.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes. Life! How can it be a whole month? But they're back :D

It was dark when Glorfindel reached the Pink Flamingo. Most of the village was quiet, just finishing dinner or tidying up after it, but the lane down near the river was busy. He could hear the music from five houses away, a cacophony of bells and strings with an underlying drumbeat, the whole punctuated by bursts of raucous singing. The complaints about noise finally had context. The last time he heard anything like this had been at the House of the Fountain; Thel, he recalled with a fond smile, had known how to throw a party.

Several horses were tethered to the rail just off the road and he dismounted and added his to the crowd. There was some shifting and snorting while the newcomer settled in but by and large the horses seemed used to the situation. He paused a moment, looking across the small garden at the house, ablaze with lights, from the torches set on either side of the steps to the bright glow of lanterns and flicker of candles that came spilling out the windows and front door, then strode up the path, running the names of the person he was looking for, the injured mother and the neighbour through his mind so he wouldn’t get them muddled. 

He mounted the steps, crossed the stoop, and came face to face with the Avari who had left his seat and come to stand in the doorway, lamplight bright behind him and a seductively musky scent wafting out past him. Incense, Glorfindel thought. Another import. He wondered if it came from the same merchant as did the orange cordial. They stared at each other. The Avari had one eyebrow crooked, in a ‘well, what do you know?’ kind of expression. Hastily Glorfindel said, “I’m looking for someone called Gondien? I believe he came down here this evening?”

“Master Erestor be a big believer in discretion, soldier,” the Avari informed him. “I be paid to take their money, not note down names and addresses.”

“Even though I’d wager you know every face that comes through this door, yes,” Glorfindel replied, forcing a pleasant smile.

“That be for me to know, me and the Master.” The Avari settled into a pose that suggested a rock rooted to the earth and crossed corded arms over his broad chest.

Glorfindel breathed in and released, telling himself to stay calm, but truth told, he felt uncomfortable standing there in full view of the road. Anyone passing was likely to jump to conclusions, just as the Avari had. He had an urge to get this finished as quick as possible and leave. 

“No need to make this difficult,” he said, raising his voice to be heard over the music. “His mother’s had an accident and I told their neighbour I’d come down and fetch him.”

“There be any number of wives and mothers and hopeful sweethearts ready enough to claim an accident,” the Avari growled. “Tis no reason to interfere in a guest’s leisure. His time be paid for.”

Glorfindel took a few steps forward. He was in no mood for a physical confrontation, although if it came he was ready. The Avari was big but he’d faced bigger. “I’m not checking up on anyone’s behalf. All I want is to pass on the message and leave. His name’s Gondien, and he’s needed at home. How complicated is that? If you’re not able to leave your station here, tell me where to look and I’ll go find him myself.”

The Avari’s eyes changed. Glorfindel knew at once that he had made a mistake, but before he could backtrack he heard voices approaching, loud enough to rival the music. Two patrons rounded the corner, one a stranger to him, the other one of his men. They stopped dead when they saw him.

“Hey, what’s he doing here?” the one he didn’t recognise asked sharply. He was trying to keep his voice down, but Glorfindel had always had excellent hearing. “Since when does the Patrol come sniffing around here?”

“Hello sir, come for a visit?” The off duty warrior - Glorfindel couldn’t place his name but it would come – ended on something close to a giggle. He was clearly drunk. 

“I think you’d better get on home,” he said flatly. “As for me, I’m just here to call someone away on family business.”

“More like he’s taking a look to see who goes in and out and what their story is.” The warrior’s companion turned on the Avari accusingly. “Is that what you do, pass on names and tastes? Tall girl with big tits, blonde boy, specialities…” The Avari glared at him and began tapping the fingers of one hand on his forearm: Glorfindel at least knew a warning ‘tell’ when he saw one. “I knew it was too good to be true – privacy, a chance for a man to relax and just be himself. Meanwhile you take our coin and share our stories with the Patrol and whoever else is interested.”

“That be a slander and an affront,” the Avari grated. “This one here comes with a message as he said, nothing more. And I be telling him how the guests of this house be no one’s business, not his, nor even that fancy half breed lord of this valley himself.”

“I think you’ll find anything that happens in his valley is Lord Elrond’s business,” Glorfindel pointed out tartly. His patience was starting to wear thin. More footsteps came down the hall towards them; he supposed it was too much to hope that one set belonged to Gondien.

Three more patrons came round the corner. One was tossing a small purse from hand to hand frowning, while the second seemed to be patting him on the shoulder. Glorfindel recalled that glimpse of gaming tables on his last visit. The third looked pale and tired, his face bore traces of carelessly removed make up and he carried what Glorfindel realised on the third try was a long blond wig. They stopped dead at the sight of the small crowd in the entrance. 

“What’s this?” asked the man with the purse, who Glorfindel mentally tagged as the Gambler for convenience.

“His lordship’s checking up on us. Must be another new rule,” said the warrior, who he finally placed as Tirithon, one of the archers.

Blond Wig made an inarticulate noise and advanced on the Avari. “How can you do that? This is meant to be a safe place, not somewhere the authorities ask questions about you, not like Mithlond.”

“No one be looking you up, young one,” the Avari told him, raising his voice a bit. “Tis but a private matter, some youngster needed at home...”

Well at least he had decided to accept the story, Glorfindel thought. “Not good enough,” the Gambler snarled. “Next you’ll have them doing room checks to see who’s here with who and taxing our winnings.”

His friend grinned. “Not much danger for you there, then.” Glorfindel remembered him now: Bellrauthien, a researcher from the library. 

Blond Wig was visibly upset. For a moment he seemed about to toss the hairpiece away but then instead clutched it tighter. “You! Avari! I want to see Master Erestor right now.”

The Avari was already shaking his head. “Master be unavailable, he with a client.”

“I’ll bet his client would be happy to know the Patrol’s down here asking questions.”

“Maybe someone needs to go up and tell him. Maybe someone needs to tell everyone.”

They were all talking at once now. Someone – Glorfindel couldn’t pinpoint who - yelled, “Hey! The Patrol’s here, checking up on us!”

“What’s happening out here?” a female voice asked, and a couple of barely-clad girls arrived to see what was going on. The Avari made shooing motions at them but they stood their ground, one girl even going over to twine her arm through the archer’s.

The Avari reached behind the table near the door and came up with an impressive looking club. “That be enough,” he shouted. “Quiet in here. Soldier, you be on your way.”

Glorfindel was at the end of his patience. “Ulmo’s balls, man – I’m not interested in anyone’s private life. I just need to find....”

Right then the Gambler threw a punch at the Avari, which was one of the stupidest things Glorfindel had seen recently. He staggered back across the entrance hall on the receiving end of a blow from a huge fist. It was the signal for a concerted rush on the Avari and by extension Glorfindel himself. Someone smashed up against him and he shoved them, telling himself to show restraint, only to be grabbed round the neck from behind. Somewhere a girl screamed. He broke the stranglehold and threw off his assailant – it was Bellrauthien, the scholar, who must have stood on his toes to manage that neck lock - and spun around just in time to see the Avari smack two heads together with an impact that made him wince. Someone grabbed his arm, but jerked back as a piercing whistle split the air. There was a slashing hiss and something struck the floor hard enough to make it shake. Everyone froze.

Erestor stood behind them, legs planted apart, armed with a silver whistle on a cord and a wicked-looking whip. He was furious. Glorfindel recalled a wry smile and a comment he had taken for a joke, something about “ _There’s more than one use for a whip, isn’t there?_ ” His clothing was minimal: black knee high boots, a gold chain around his hips, silver nipple rings and an intricately worked gold collar. There were bracelets on his wrists, smoke-dark liner around his eyes, and his hair hung loose. Ribbons of purple silk hung from the chain at his hips, barely covering his personal parts. The concept ‘hot’ formed in Glorfindel’s mind and settled briefly like molten lead in his groin.

Amber eyes swept the room and came to rest on the Avari who loosened his grip on Tirithon’s collar, let him drop, and took a step back. Erestor’s husky voice was low and intense. “What the fuck is going on here?” 

Everyone started to speak at once. They tried to out-shout each other till Erestor’s whip cracked threateningly, this time just above head height. No one moved, including Glorfindel. The Avari cleared his throat. “Not wanting to disturb you, Master Erestor, but his lordship there comes looking for one of your clients – a family matter, he says. And I be just telling him we don’t talk out of turn about the clients when this lot comes along and decides he be here looking for them all. That one there, he takes a swing at me.” He pointed at the Gambler. 

Erestor followed the angle of his thumb and his eyebrows went up. “Gods, Ruscion. What is wrong with you? Do you have a death wish?” He looked around. “Right. Let’s get this straight. I neither sell nor give your details to Lord Elrond, your families, your employers, or any wandering Vala who might happen past here. It’s neither my business nor theirs. You hand over your coin, you get what you paid for – that’s all I’m interested in and I’ll fight to defend that right. In return, you will not riot in my house nor question my honesty nor that of my employees.” He flicked the whip, this time almost but not quite playfully. “Is that clear?” 

There were mutters of assent. The man with the wig was holding it close as though for comfort. Out the corner of his eye Glorfindel saw someone else surreptitiously removing a strap from his neck that looked suspiciously like the leather collars they put on hunting dogs in case they had to be leashed.

Erestor turned glinting eyes on Glorfindel. “A family matter? Explain. And no names, please.”

This dangerous, exotic being glaring at him bore no resemblance to the engaging man he had discussed music with in the Hall of Fire. Ignoring his suddenly dry mouth and the almost forgotten knot of heat in his groin, Glorfindel said briskly, “One of your – guests – is needed at home. His mother’s had a bad accident. We were passing and I was asked to help.”

Amber eyes measured him dispassionately. “Next time, perhaps a simple request would serve?”

That stung. “That was what I thought, but your doorkeeper wasn’t having any of it.”

Erestor gave him a long look and then shrugged. “Miscommunication happens.” He nodded to the Avari. “Go and find whoever it is, please. And quickly, I can’t leave my gentleman hanging much longer.”

Glorfindel wondered if he meant that literally.

“And you girls can get back to work before I notice you’re here,” Erestor added in a deceptively gentle tone. “Do you expect our guests to play at dice on their own?”

The girls, who had been keeping quiet and hanging on to every word, exchanged glances and left without a murmur, giving Erestor and his whip a wide berth. He let them almost reach the corner before flicking it casually after them. It twitched the hem of a gauzy tunic making the wearer squeak and all three of them ran laughing and squealing. Glorfindel was impressed in spite of himself. Erestor gave a satisfied nod and went to take a seat at the Avari’s table. The ribbons swished as he walked. Glorfindel had no idea where to look.

In almost no time he was outside in the dark where it was beginning to drizzle, watching Gondien untie his horse. He seemed a pleasant enough boy, hovering somewhere between embarrassment and concern when he heard why the head of the valley’s security had come looking for him. On Erestor’s instructions, the Avari had refunded half his money while everyone else melted out into the night. Erestor had stalked off at the Avari’s return, tapping the whip against his boot, his expression grim. He did not say goodnight.

\-----o

Glorfindel decided against going back to the Patrol’s offices. Instead he stopped in at the kitchen where he was well-liked and left with a plate of leftovers from dinner which he took up to his room. He poured a cup of wine and sat by the window listening to the rain while he ate. He concentrated on the food and only after he had finished eating did he let himself think back over the evening, relaxing in the chair with his wine and staring out into darkness broken only by the lights from the other wing of the house and a sprinkling of golden sparks further off in the village. During the day there was a splendid view of the river, too, but at night everything melted into the solid shadow of the cliff. 

He understood about brothels, or at least he thought he did. They were places visited by the lonely, the unwed, those with exceptional tastes not shared by a partner, sometimes even by those seeking emotional support and the comfort that kindness and simple touch brought. He once heard of a man who went to one in Vinyamar on a regular basis just to have someone hold his hand and listen to him talk about the nightmare of the Crossing where he lost his entire family to the Ice. They were not places he had ever felt an urge to visit as a client but he was in favour of people making their own choices and dealing with their needs as they saw best. 

He had no idea what the dog collar around that client’s neck implied and suspected he didn’t want to, but it was really nothing to do with him. The scantily dressed girls hadn’t bothered him beyond thinking they must be cold, and Gondien’s embarrassment had been almost funny. The standoff with the Avari could have been avoided – he wondered how much was just the dark elf tweaking Authority’s tail and how much due to his own rising discomfort – but it could also have been worse. He supposed he would have to tell Elrond about it, although it didn’t speak well of his ability to explain himself in short sentences.

Erestor though… He recalled light glinting off what might have been small diamonds in a nipple ring and butterflies stirred again in the pit of his stomach. Erestor had unsettled him. Partly he supposed it was the stark contrast between the soberly dressed elf in the Hall of Fire discussing music over a cup of wine, and that exotic, almost naked creature with the jewellery and the whip. There was no resemblance even to the confident tease he had drunk tea with in that same house quite recently. There had been something edgy, dangerous... feral about him tonight, something that went a little too well with those unusual eyes. 

Glorfindel liked to think of himself as an experienced courtier and soldier with a realistic view of the world, but upbringing wasn’t so easily shaken off, and he had no trouble imagining what his parents would have thought of it all. If he was honest, he knew he had ignored the possibility that Erestor saw clients himself, choosing to picture him rather as someone who owned an unusual – and from the Patrol’s view a potentially annoying – business, someone who benefited from the skills of others, not an active participant. 

He drank more of the quite good wine while he stared at the lights from the other wing. Behind him the fire was starting to burn low and two candles were already flickering. He wondered briefly what time the staff came in and got the rooms ready for the night. Reaching for the wine jug he topped up the cup, then got up and began to pace the room with it. How did he feel? The whip said things about a type of intimacy he found disconcerting and he supposed he felt a bit awkward. Self-conscious almost. As though he had seen something he had no business looking at, which was patently ridiculous as it had clearly not bothered Erestor at all to come down underdressed and armed like that. 

Glorfindel stopped in front of the fire, glared at it. Gods, nipple rings. He had only ever heard of such things. But then he supposed his sexual experience was fairly limited, an urge or an impulse he learned early to control. There had been brother warriors on winter patrols, just two or three, there were court ladies, married, looking for discreet excitement, and nothing much beyond that. He enjoyed sex, yes, but it had always taken second place to work, to duty, to the multitude of demands on his life. He had gone to enough of Thel’s parties to know what was on offer, but by then he was carrying the responsibilities that would have been his father’s had he lived. 

Before – there had been a girl he half thought himself in love with, but she had stayed in Aman, and looking back he knew it had been more that he was expected to love her than that she had been the one for him. 

There had been no nipple rings in any of that, no collars, and definitely no whips. He was almost embarrassingly ordinary.

\-----o

He told Elrond the next morning, deciding it was better to be upfront about it rather than wait for the news to filter up at its own rate. Elrond seldom seemed to gossip but he knew most of what was passing in his valley. Unsurprisingly, his lord was amused, though his humour didn’t quite overlay the practical.

“I’ll make sure Erestor gets it into Medlin’s thick head to cooperate with you in future, it shouldn’t happen again. Last thing we need is that kind of bloody mindedness. Though to be fair,” he added, passing a mug of kaffee across to Glorfindel, who restrained a shudder - Elrond did not have a sweet tooth and had a light hand with the sweetener. “To be fair, next time you might want to send someone else with the message. Someone anonymous and less likely to get the place in an uproar.”

\-----o-----

Glorfindel half expected a formal complaint holding him responsible for the incident, but there was no follow up from the Pink Flamingo. He spent the next week deeply involved in planning war games and drawing up, together with his senior officers, a more standardised approach to the problem of horses straying or being lured into other pastures. His days were long, his nights late, and he saw no one from the Pink Flamingo, certainly not Erestor. When he had time to think about it, he decided it was for the best, such a friendship could only come laced with complications.

Most nights he fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, and wished the night had been at least a candle mark longer when dawn came. This time though it felt more like minutes after falling asleep when he was woken by someone hammering on the door. A glance out the window told him all he needed to know – it was still dark and flames bloomed orange against the night sky. He wrapped a woollen throw from one of the chairs around his waist as he crossed the room and opened the door to Elen, who started to speak, took in his state of undress and hastily averted her eyes. “Yes, I’m getting dressed. Come in. Where is it? That looks like it’s near the market.”

“Can you see it from here, sir? I thought you might.” She went past him to the window, the late hour and the situation sweeping aside her usual reticence. “This view must be beautiful in the day.... It’s at the end of the market, sir. I didn’t have time to find out whose property, I came straight here to fetch you.”

Glorfindel went back into the bedroom and pulled on the first clothes he put his hand to and his hiking boots. He grabbed a brush and ran it over his hair, then braided it quickly and fastened it in a club at the nape of his neck. Finally, he looked for and found gloves thick enough to protect his hands – there was a fire to fight. Before leaving he went out on the balcony that opened off his bedroom. Elen was right, he had a choice suite of rooms and the view was enviable. Tonight it gave him a good look at the fire, which still seemed contained in one place, not spreading. Yet.

“There are wooden stalls all around there,” he said, going back inside where Elen was still at the window, watching. “I hope they’re wetting everything down. Come on, let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tirithon: vigilant  
> Bellrauthien: strong as a lion  
> Ruscion: fox *g*


	6. Chapter 6

The market was near the centre of the village, a meeting place for winding streets and informal alleyways. The street Glorfindel and Elen hurried towards lay under a cloud of acrid black smoke. It followed the curve of a hill that in its turn climbed upward to join the cliff that towered above them. A row of semi-detached houses, narrow and double storied, backed onto the hill, facing a line of rather larger free standing homes. A group of people, probably the home owners, were busy wetting roofs and the tiny patches of garden in front of the free standing houses, while a larger crowd over the road fought the flames, armed with wet sacks and buckets filled from the well in the market square. 

Elen went over the road to ask questions where the crowd was smaller and the protective measures less urgent. Glorfindel spotted a few of his men, off duty and probably fresh from the Hall of Fire, and made a note of their names so he could commend them later. He grabbed a sack from someone, yelled at him to go help carry water and then headed into the smoke. There was no way to tell where the fire had started, it had already spread out to feed redly on drywall and wood. Gritting his teeth, he beat at the flames that blossomed on a low fence, trying to keep it back from the narrow lane between two of the houses. 

Beridhren came up beside him, similarly armed. “We’re trying to get everyone out, sir,” he shouted. “It’s already blocked the doorway of that house yonder.”

“Have you gone around the back?” Glorfindel shouted back. “They have a rear entrance, don’t they?”

“There’s people there already, yes sir. They’ll break in the doors if they have to. Not much space and a lot of thick smoke though – it’s right up against the hill.”

Glorfindel tossed the sack to him. “This thing is useless. We need better firefighting methods. See what you can do, I want to see what’s going on there.”

He took the lane between two houses further down the row, moving fast but without running. Even so, it was dark and narrow and twice he nearly tripped. He came out in an alley which, as Beridhren had said, was choked with smoke. He could make out narrow vegetable patches and a few straggling trees but the cliff was claustrophobically close and he wondered how anything managed to grow there. He could make out very little detail, but there were moving shapes down where the smoke lay thickest, and raised voices competed with the unsettlingly close crackle of flames, so he went towards them. He ended up bumping into one of his men, who swore and then recognised him.

“House is clear now, sir. Got the children out – they were up in the bedroom, too scared to move.”

“And the parents?” Glorfindel asked sharply, peering through the stinging smoke. His eyes were starting to burn and he tried to keep his breathing shallow and even.

“There’s just the mother, sir. Father’s away. They say she’s down the other side of the market, visiting her sister.”

“Huh.” Glorfindel didn’t say what he thought of someone who left children alone at night, but the warrior nodded wordless agreement before moving off. They were splashing water around liberally, trying to keep the fire from taking hold in the alley. Glowing coals hissed and sputtered, giving off black smoke. The flames leaping against windows coloured the light and made it flicker strangely, the hot air burned his lungs and stank. His insides felt strange. The last time he was surrounded by searing heat and smoke that billowed and roared had been at the end of his other life...

The smoke closed in on him, somewhere there was a roar like thunder. Dull red flames leapt and twisted -- leaping and twisting like the whip that had curled and snapped... Nausea gripped his gut, bile rose up into his throat and the world spun dizzyingly. He reached for his sword but it somehow wasn’t there, should have been there… He swayed and groped wildly for support, eyes shut tight.

“The ground’s smouldering, there’s no air back here,” a voice that seemed to come from a great distance said almost conversationally.

“Keep moving,” he grated out. “I can hold it off for a time. Be careful – so far down, they’re razing the city…”

“Glorfindel, we’re in Imladris. It’s just a house fire, nothing more. Open your eyes.”

He became aware he was leaning against a scorching hot wall and someone had taken hold of his arm: Erestor, soot streaked, with a damp cloth hanging around his neck and his hair wound into a knot atop his head. His eyes were intent. “The house next door is unsafe; we’re getting out in the open. Come with us, you need some fresh air.”

 _Us?_ Still disoriented Glorfindel looked around, blinking to clear his vision. There was no balrog, not even a small one. Instead there were three young children, dressed for bed, one holding a stuffed toy, another nursing a wooden sword. They held hands, the tallest gripping the edge of Erestor’s tunic, their eyes big and frightened. He looked away, the blood pounding in his ears and his lungs aching as though he had been running. He still felt sick.

Erestor tugged his arm firmly. “Damn it, come away now. Before the smoke shifts and you have a dozen people asking if you’re well.”

Glorfindel had no breath to argue. He followed Erestor behind the row of houses as obediently as the children. The smoke seemed to lock them into a quiet world of their own, far from the shouts and banging he could hear beyond its walls. Instead he was more aware of their footsteps, Erestor’s light and quick, his own more solid, the children’s hurried padding to keep up. Erestor turned into an open doorway and through an empty kitchen – the residents must have been helping fight the fire – and then they were abruptly back in the noisy chaos of the street. The world was again alive with movement and shouting against a fiery backdrop, but the air was clearer and his heart rate began slowing back to normal. 

People rushed past them with buckets, a dog was barking frenetically, and before Glorfindel had a chance to properly get his bearings, Beridhren spotted him and trotted over. He looked grim and somewhat the worse for wear. 

“Sir, where’ve you been? We found two of the Nandoran elementals, they’re going to try and raise mist from the water, damp down the ground and the buildings. Don’t know if it’ll work, but I thought it’d be worth a shot. Elen thinks it’s a waste of time…”

Out the corner of his eye he saw Erestor moving off into the crowd, children in tow, no doubt in search of their mother, but there was no time to say anything and to be honest he wasn’t keen to draw Beridhren’s attention in that direction. He squared his shoulders and pulled himself together, forcing himself to let go of the memory of that night long ago on the cliff. Gondolin was in the past, he had work to do here.

“Elen’s the practical type,” he said. “Nothing wrong with that but there’s no harm in letting them try either. As long as we don’t sit back and rely on them to sort it all out, there’s nothing to lose. Where’s she? I’ll speak to her.” 

Hours later, after an eternity of putting together working groups to service the fire on multiple fronts, sending in parties to salvage belongings where they could, and encouraging his people while doing his best to stay out of the disorienting smoke, the fire was finally a small thing again, responding to targeted efforts. Three of the houses were gutted, two more would never be the same between soot and water damage, but the fight was over and miraculously no lives had been lost. 

It was only then that he had time to look for Erestor, but by that time he was nowhere to be found.

\-----o

“There has to be a connection between them, something that ties them together. There’s no coincidence, they’ve been set deliberately.”

Elrond had come down to the Patrol’s offices and he, Glorfindel, Elen, Beridhren, and a group of six that Glorfindel had put together to focus specifically on catching the arsonist stood in a loose semicircle in front of the map with its little red triangles. Beridhren had a pointer and was recapping the situation.

“In order, we had a chicken coop - the hens raised such a commotion it was found quickly and put out before there was much damage, a communal tool shed, burnt to the ground, Nendir the weaver's storeroom, two of the new terraced houses, and now those three down by the market. Plus, there were a couple of small blazes before this that no one thought out of the ordinary except for Lieutenant Elen, as she has been kind enough to point out to me.” He glared at Elen who returned him a satisfied nod. “Couple of injuries, but so far no deaths. Not all in the same area, no connection that we find see between victims. Also, damage to property has increased, the first few were smaller.”

“He’s got more daring,” Glorfindel said. “He takes more time, sets the fire properly? It’s all about experience. That’s what Alagos thinks has been happening, and I’m inclined to agree. Alagos, explain it to Lord Elrond as you did to me.”

Alagos, the closest thing they had to an expert, stepped forward so he could point properly to the map. “These smaller fires in the beginning, my lord? I think they were started with a rag in a pot or jar. It would burn more slowly, catch what it could when it grew, but it’d be easier to contain and put out. These later fires, the last two, are different. He’s worked out what he’s doing wrong and he’s chosen his startling point better. Also he’s using something – wood perhaps – soaked in oil, put it in place and made a trail for the fire to follow and spread out from.”

“Random targets or carefully chosen?” Elrond asked frowning at the map. 

Glorfindel glanced at Alagos who shook his head. “We just don’t know. If we could find some kind of link it would give us a starting point, but for all we know they’re just random choices set by someone who likes to see things burn – fire against the sky.” He suppressed a shudder, he had seen flames against the night sky before.

“If he just wanted to start fires, there must be easier places than some of those, sir,” Elen said, staring at the map. “Places that would have an impact but where he’d be less likely to be caught. I mean, these are people’s homes, here and here, and there’s likely to be someone around.”

“Maybe he likes the added risk?” Beridhren suggested.

“That’s possible,” Elrond agreed after a pause. “But I don’t know...”

“There’s something we’re missing,” Glorfindel said later when he and Elrond were alone in his office. He had moved his chair to the side so they wouldn’t sit with the table between them. Claiming what felt like a senior position to his lord felt instinctively wrong. “I can’t put my finger on it but I can feel it’s there.”

“So you don’t believe these are random choices?” Elrond had his elbows on the table and now rested his chin on the knuckles of his interlaced fingers, his lean, intelligent face brooding. 

“I’m sure of it, but I’ve tried everything – common interests or activities, times of the month even.”

“Moon phases? Whether the victims know one another?”

Glorfindel shook his head, aggravated at his helplessness. “I checked the dates. They’re different times of the day and night and don’t seem to happen at full moon or anything obvious. As for them knowing one another – half of Imladris knows Nendir so I’m not sure it means anything either.”

“Yes – small community, people know or know of each other, from the people living in the best suites in my house to someone like Erestor with his pretty girls and boys.”

“Oh, I forgot to mention he was at the fire. When we met he was looking after a couple of children.” _And a full grown warrior whose nerve suddenly snapped._

“I heard something about that, yes,” Elrond said. “Helped get them out the house and back to their mother. What was he doing down there, did he say?”

Glorfindel gave him an uncertain look. “You’re suggesting I should investigate Erestor? That’s not the impression you’ve given before.”

Elrond’s eyes flashed annoyance. “Glorfindel, don’t be ridiculous. It was an idle question. I’m not telling you who to investigate, I haven’t a clue. Look into his movements if you think it’s called for. Look into mine for that matter. We can’t just sit back and wait till we catch someone by accident.”

“Yes, I know that.” He took care to keep the irritation out of his voice. Elrond glanced at him but said nothing. “When do you expect His Majesty?”

Elrond’s expression darkened. “Middle of next month. We need this sorted out before then.”

“So he doesn’t try and solve it himself, yes, you said.” He grinned briefly. He had less experience of Gil-galad but could see why Elrond would be keen to avoid all that energy and enthusiasm overwhelming his valley. “Be assured, we’re doing our best. No one’s taking it lightly. Give it long enough and someone’s likely to get killed. I have a good team out there. It’s only a matter of time.”

\-----o

“Walk with me, we need to talk.”

Glorfindel was at the market looking for a gift for Elen’s begetting day, something personal without being open to misinterpretation. It was proving more difficult than he’d expected. He had just bought a pie from one of the food stalls to eat while he thought it through when Erestor once again managed to materialise next to him without warning. They hadn’t met since the night of the fire and Glorfindel felt awkward, as though he owed an explanation. He tried to suppress memories of the time before the fire, of bare skin and nipple rings and silk ribbons. Discomfort made him gruff. 

“Afternoon, Erestor. You could have come to the office, you know.”

Erestor looked amused. “Yes, and let everyone see I had something to discuss with you. They would have had fun with that. Let’s go this way. There’s a bench I’m rather fond of.”

He wore green with gold embroidery and everything about him, from the thin, jewelled circlet to the soft kid boots with their gold buckles, looked expensive. His hair was loose and hung in an obediently smooth fall down his back, and he had a handful of pine nuts which he ate delicately, one at a time. It was as though the whip-wielding denizen from that night at the Pink Flamingo had never been. For no good reason he made Glorfindel feel big and clumsy, which was a new experience as he had never felt clumsy before in this life.

They followed the path down to the river, Erestor walking a little apart from him, eating his nuts and not talking. Glorfindel couldn’t decide if he was being discreet and not making it obvious they were together or if he simply found the pine nuts more interesting. When they reached the river path, Erestor turned left instead of going right towards the stone bridge where the open grass and popular picnic and relaxation spots were. His goal was a bench near the water, partly screened by a stand of willow trees. Sitting, he crossed one leg over the other, leaned back and sighed. 

“No sleep,” he told Glorfindel after he also sat. “Horrible, horrible night. I tried to nap and decided fresh air was better. And I had to find you anyhow.”

“Something’s wrong? More complaints from the neighbours? We’ve not heard anything this time.”

Erestor gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “Nothing more than usual, we’ve been in a state of mutual suspicion for as long as I’ve had the house, it won’t change any time soon. Nut?”

He held out his hand and Glorfindel blinked before understanding he was being offered a pine nut. He shook his head hastily. “No, no thanks. I’m fine.” The cheese and leek pie suddenly looked embarrassingly substantial. “You were looking for me?”

“As I said, yes. There was a – situation. It might be nothing to worry about but I wanted to run it past you.”

Glorfindel turned to face him. “Trouble at the house?”

Erestor’s nose wrinkled. “I – don’t know? Possibly.” He raised his palm to his mouth, ate the last of the pine nuts and brushed his hands off. “One of the girls had a problem with a client last night. Alassëa, nice child, not the most popular but she’s sweet and sympathetic and can hold a conversation so she’s probably a better companion than the bubbly, popular ones. Just my opinion.” He glanced sideways at Glorfindel. “Sorry, it wasn’t meant to sound like a sales pitch. Anyhow, there was some shouting and then she screamed, so Medlin - the Avari – went in to sort it out, that being his job, and found the client had her by the neck and was shaking her.”

Glorfindel sat forward, frowning. No matter what the girl did for a living, this was very much his problem. “You should have sent for one of my men at the time,” he said. 

“Well, we look after our own, and in fairness, in most places the authorities aren’t too interested in a girl in that profession complaining about a client.”

“I would be,” Glorfindel cut in. “Unless she was being paid to be shaken by the neck, of course.”

“Which she wasn’t. And yes, I think you would. You’ve not struck me as the type to sit in judgement on others’ life choices.” Amber eyes met his briefly. “Anyhow, it didn’t seem necessary at the time. We’re used to sorting things out ourselves. Medlin hauled him off her, bundled his clothes together and threw him out – standard procedure if someone gets out of hand – and that would have been the end of it if Alassëa hadn’t been crying so hysterically that I heard her, rather than just being told about it later.”

“You were busy at the time, then?” He tried to flesh out the word ‘busy’ with awkward hand gestures. He had a horrid suspicion he was blushing.

“I seldom see clients these days, my lord,” Erestor said. His face was so bland Glorfindel just knew he was laughing. “In the old days when we needed to establish ourselves here, yes of course. You do what’s necessary. Now? Now I need a good reason - like my whip specialist having a sprained wrist. No, the dog was having pups and I was sitting in a shed in the back yard patting her head. I’m sure I was more alarmed than she was. I came in shortly after the client was evicted and Alassëa was crying so I went to calm her – it’s very off-putting for the patrons, you know - and she told me a bit of a strange story.”

Erestor fell silent and Glorfindel was content to wait while he organised his thoughts. The river lapped by placidly, sunlight glinted off the water, and birds called from tree to tree. The unexpected peace was seductive; he could feel the tension draining out of him. It was quiet too. It was the slow point of the afternoon and he had heard only one person pass. The path led further down the gorge till it reached a footbridge over the river, after which it became a narrow trail which could barely accommodate a horse. Most people used the newer approach to the bridge that ran directly from Elrond’s house. 

“She said he was very tense when he came in, paced the room complaining about someone he said had wronged him and how they would be sorry. She tried to get him to sit down, asked him if he’d like to talk to her about it. And he said there was no point, that everyone was against him and she would be too. Yes, I know. A self-pitying asshole. But as I said, she’s a sweet girl. She told him she couldn’t imagine that, after all she knew he had tried to help the night of the last big fire, because he’d seen her later and she smelt the smoke on him and knew he had a good heart.”

Glorfindel frowned. “So far, so good. What went wrong?”

Erestor spread his hands. “Your guess is as good as ours. He just flew into a rage, grabbed her by the neck and began shaking her, yelling that she lied, that she was like all the rest.”

“And this was after she mentioned about him having a good heart?” Glorfindel mused running the words through his mind again. Erestor was easy to listen to, with that smoky, brandied voice, but he had to concentrate to follow exactly what he was saying.

“Straight after. I asked her several times but it came out the same way each time. So I thought I should mention it to you, because I don’t know what it means but he might start making a habit of this and I wouldn’t like anyone else to get hurt.”

“Yes, yes of course. Thank you. I need to know who he is though, Erestor. Not just ‘a client’.”

Erestor nodded. “Yes, I know. It goes against the house rules, but --- actually you might know him, he’s also from Gondolin. A jeweller named Denesion?”

A wedge-shaped face with slate grey eyes and straight hair presented itself. “Denesion? He’s a regular client? Surely not.” At Erestor’s curious look he added, “I mean, he’s always seemed more of the solitary type.”

“We get a lot of those,” Erestor said gently and there was no mistaking the amused undertone. “People who can’t organise their social lives… unaided, shall we say? So yes. Not a regular as such, but he comes by every few weeks.”

Glorfindel was considering this when something else struck him. “While we’re sharing information, do you have a record of who visits the house and how often?”

Erestor frowned and started to shake his head then reconsidered. “Well, not formally but Medlin keeps a record. It makes him happy. I had a sense of how often we saw someone back when I took the cash, but that’s less often now. I trust Medlin to deal with the financials. What would I be looking for? And why?”

“If I give you the dates of the recent fires, could you see if they match with anything, if you notice a pattern? Because antisocial loners are the ones most likely to...”

“The ones most likely to cause trouble?” Erestor asked. “Most of them are just lonely and a bit sad, my lord. Life has been hard for many of us here. Does this include Denesion? I never got a good feeling off of him.”

“There’s some other issue there, I’m sure, but yes, no exceptions. And I don’t need to be called ‘my lord’. Do you see anything round here that I’m lord of?” He gestured widely at the river, the trees.

Erestor considered him. “You don’t lose what you were by coming back to another time and place. I grew up with neighbours who came from Gondolin, and one of the earliest tales I remember is about how you challenged the balrog so they could escape. You would not be any less their lord today. And yes of course I’ll look. There’s a lot of talk about the fires being connected – so it’s true?” 

“There’s been too many for coincidence, it has to be deliberate.” Talking to Erestor felt as easy and natural as the night in the Hall of Fire and the words came out without thought. Too late to pull them back, he hesitated. “You’ll keep that to yourself though, please?”

Erestor touched his arm briefly. “Come now, can you think of a profession better at keeping a confidence? And I’m sure you’ll keep mine as well, I’d not like anyone to think I go out of my way to complain to the authorities about things that happen under my roof. Just – he feels ‘wrong’, if that makes sense? So if one of his customers or a neighbour comes with a complaint you’ll take them seriously.”

Glorfindel relaxed a bit. “It’s a fair exchange. I’ll give Denesion a warning, I’d be remiss not to, but I’ll find a way to keep your name out of it.” He hesitated then plunged on. “About the other night, during the fire… thank you. Nothing like that’s ever happened before, it came out of nowhere. And while I’m about it, last time at the house - I’m sorry, I was an idiot. I didn’t give the consequences much thought.” He just managed to stop himself before he apologised for staring.

Erestor heard him out then shrugged and the sun twinkled off the tiny gems in the circlet. “You looked like you’d stepped into an old nightmare. You needed someone to help you wake up, and I happened to be there. It was no one else’s business.” The air in their circle of birdsong and river sounds felt still and close for a moment, then Erestor straightened up and pushed his hair back. His tone became brisk. “And the other – it won’t happen again. Medlin was a little hasty there. Anyhow. If you want me to look for patterns, you’d best give me the dates so I can check before the evening rush starts.”

Glorfindel had the strangest feeling, as though he had lost something that had no name, but there was nothing to be done about it. “I’ll go pay Denesion a visit and make sure he knows he should take his anger out on a more appropriate target in future --- go beat metal or something.”

Erestor’s face was pensive as he rose. “Thank you. I still feel something’s wrong there, but maybe it’s just that I don’t like seeing one of my girls upset or hurt. I’ll go and think about patterns. We can meet and compare notes later. Maybe this time I’ll even visit your office.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had good intentions but then there was the DeathFlu from Hell - no seriously, now I know what ManFlu feels like. And then there was Life, and Laziness, and Procrastination. I love this fic. Can. Do. Better.  
> 

Denesion lived with his brother in the crowded, newer part of the village, but there was no way to make a home visit seem casual. Glorfindel supposed he could find some pretext for dropping by to see the brother, but they had little in common besides a military past in Gondolin where Denesion’s brother had been wounded in the attack but managed to escape with his life. He walked with a marked limp and his nerves had never quite recovered, or at least this was the story as it had come to Glorfindel. They had never met in their shared past and even in Imladris their paths barely crossed.

Instead he decided to look in on Denesion at work. He had a small shop near the market, one of an eclectic row of outlets for middling artisans. It was not where the true artists and creators were found, they generally had small studios up near the main house itself. This, rather, was where you could pick up a nice broach, a decent knife, or household crockery for daily use. Glorfindel walked along slowly, looking at the merchandise displayed on tables near doorways, greeting a few craftspeople, even stopping briefly to look at a carving of a cat. He thought he might come back for it; his suite was tastefully decorated but still felt exactly what it was – nice rooms set aside for a favoured guest.

Like most gold and jewel smiths, Denesion had his wares displayed inside on tables and a corner stand, while his workbench was on view at the back of the shop under a high window that let in the light. There were no customers when Glorfindel entered, in fact the entire row was quiet. He wondered if this was to do with the time of day and if it was usual. He took a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dimmer light and went over to look at the items for sale. 

“Why Glorfindel, how good to see you.” Denesion, who had entered silently through a side door near the back, stood beside his work bench, a dark figure with the sunlight behind him, rubbing his hands on the leather apron he wore over his clothes. The heavy gloves tucked under one arm suggested he had just come back from the communal forge a street away.

Glorfindel stepped away from the table and nodded. “Sorry, just looking around. I assumed you’d be back soon. You and your brother are well?” 

“We’re both fine thank you, as always.” Denesion put the gloves down on his work bench and came forward. “Did you stop by to say hello, or is there something I can help you with?” The smile on the smith’s habitually serious face looked forced and over eager. Glorfindel wondered why he hadn’t brought someone in to do the selling as many artisans did – smiths in particular weren’t known for their customer relations skills.

“I need a broach or something along those lines,” Glorfindel explained, still looking around. “It’s a begetting day gift for one of my subordinates, a young lady. I want something nice but nothing that might suggest ulterior motives.”

Denesion nodded. “Simple but elegant then? Is there a style, a colour, we’re looking for?”

“This is the kind of thing I had in mind, though not quite as ornate,” Glorfindel said, pointing out a bird-shaped broach set with little pieces of turquoise. “Is the turquoise from around here? I’ve not seen much of it.”

“We buy it from Tharbad, though it’s mined further south,” Denesion said. “Expensive, of course, and nothing near the quality we had at home from below Fortress Peak.”

“That was good, yes, although we had better quality from the dry river bed further down,” Glorfindel said, his attention on the broach. “There was less mining on the mountain after a while, the eagles weren’t fond of it.”

“Are you certain, Glorfindel? My father never mentioned a secondary source for turquoise and he often worked with it.”

Glorfindel’s eyebrow lifted minutely of its own accord. He knew he should bite his tongue but Erestor had a point, there was something about Denesion that made him twitch. And the pride of his House was involved here. “The river site fell within territory overseen by my House and the quality was good - we sold the tumbled stones at the Fountain Market. The Fortress Mine must have been more productive than I realised.”

As he said it he realised how it must sound. The Fountain Market was – had been - expensive, not first choice for an average smith. And Denesion would have been little more than a child at the time, too. “Of course that was just one of several outlets for gemstones,” he added hastily. “No reason your father should have looked beyond his preferred supplier.” He could have kicked himself: any rudeness had been unintended, but it was too late to call back the words. And anyhow, it was the truth.

Denesion’s face darkened momentarily but he seemed to recall he had a sale to make and inclined his head. “Perhaps that was the case, yes. We were just ordinary people after all, not competing with the King’s own craftsmen. Would this be more suitable, a bracelet?” 

He held the bracelet up and Glorfindel took it, turning it around, frowning a little. “Not sure I can picture it on her, she’s a very practical young woman. Not one for floaty robes or dainty jewellery. Though these....” He touched the final drop of an earring, silver-gilt with small turquoise beads dangling from delicate silver threads. “... these might suit.”

Denesion unhooked them in silence and handed them to him. Glorfindel turned them over, examining them carefully, aware of the smith’s eyes following his every move: Denesion seemed to be taking his scrutiny as a form of criticism. Glorfindel sighed inwardly. “I think these will do very well. Do you have a box or something to wrap them in?”

“They sell gift boxes down the road, just before the turn into the market,” Denesion said. “I can put them in a bag if you wish.”

Glorfindel suspected he was being punished for his earlier lack of diplomacy. “A bag will be fine,” he said. “I’ll see to the rest of the packaging later.”

Denesion made a fuss of finding the right sized cotton bag for the earrings, which Glorfindel guessed he would be expected to pay for. He also supposed he should buy something for himself too, though nothing leapt out as an item he might wear. All that caught his eye was an interesting multi-strand necklace of green and yellow glass and occasional gold beads that he instantly pictured on Erestor. He reminded himself they were hardly close enough for gift-buying to be appropriate - it might even look like he was soliciting a favour. However, his eye kept coming back to it and he decided he might as well buy it. Perhaps when he came to his senses he could find a decorative use for it instead.

He put the necklace down on the cashier’s table and fumbled for coin. “I think I’ll take this as well – there’s another begetting day coming up soon. It’s quiet this afternoon. Business going well for you down here? Lord Elrond likes to know these things.”

Denesion looked dour. “It could be better; we’ve lost some passing trade while they clean up after the fire. Couple of the market stall holders are still not back.”

This was one of the issues that had not been immediately obvious about the last fire. Many stall holders left their stock shut in one of three small storerooms at night, and one of these, at the end of the row of houses, had been gutted. 

“Yes, it’s been rough for some of them,” Glorfindel agreed. “Worse for Randir, of course. He not only lost almost all his stock but his house was badly damaged. Do you know him? I suppose everyone knows everyone around here though.”

“Know who he is, yes,” Denesion said, in tones that suggested this was not a good thing. “I see him around, though I’m here and he’s there. If I’m honest, he got what was coming to him – arrogant git.”

The gloating expression was only there for a moment, but while it lasted it was ugly. Glorfindel had a strong need to look away and if possible change the topic before Denesion could say more. “I’ll have one of those little filigree – things – too, I think.” He went over and picked up something that looked like an undersized openwork tea pot. Looking inside he saw a small candle and realised it was meant to serve as a lamp, the kind of object usually bought in pairs. The visit was becoming expensive. “You didn’t see anyone unusual around the time of the fire did you? No strangers coming in or passing the shop that day or the days before or after?”

“None that I recall,” Denesion said after a pause. “No talk that I’ve heard either. You think it was done by an outsider then?” His voice was almost eager, although his expression didn’t change.

“I don’t know,” Glorfindel said frankly. “I’m working completely in the dark. My people have been questioning everyone but I still like to hear it with my own ears sometimes. So no strangers, nothing out the ordinary? Do any of the stall holders have an enemy? Any that you know of, that is.”

The other items disappeared into a larger bag, along with the already-packed earrings. It was starting to look quite full. Denesion shrugged. “Those that are stuck up and think well of themselves will always find enemies,” he said, making Glorfindel want to shake him and ask how he expected anyone to react well to him when he was so unremittingly negative. “I’ve not heard of any one in particular though.”

“I see.” He watched Denesion sorting through coins. Ordinarily he would say ‘keep the change, please’ and be happy to add a little extra to the pot, but this time, sensing he would be suspected of charity and that it would not be welcome, he caught his mouth before it could run away with him again. He picked up his purchases and came at last to the real point of the visit. “Thank you, I think that will be all. Just one other thing. Alassëa from the Pink Flamingo - you know who I’m talking about, yes? She shared a story with one of my people that came to my attention. I think it’d be as well for you to stay away from her till you’ve learned some self-control. There’s to be no repeat. Am I clear?”

Denesion stared at him, his lips compressed, his eyes blank. Glorfindel fully expected him to disclaim all knowledge of Alassëa, but in the end he said flatly, “I have no idea what she said but the girl exaggerates, as you’d expect from someone in her line of trade.”

Glorfindel shrugged. “Words can exaggerate, bruises seldom do. Just don’t let me hear more stories and we’ll be fine. As for the other matter, if anything comes to mind, please let the Patrol know. The sooner we catch the person responsible for that fire, the better.”

“As you say. Will there be anything else, my lord?” His lip didn’t quite twist on the title, but it was close. He had finally picked up that Glorfindel did not see him as a long lost friend and compatriot. 

Glorfindel gave him the kind of look he normally used to quell back-speaking juniors. “That will be up to you, Denesion. Hopefully not.”

\-----o

It was early evening and Glorfindel was in the Patrol’s outer office going through the last month’s reports and thinking how best to put together a statistical summary for Elrond who liked things neatly and clearly laid out, in point form if possible. He had Elen, who was the senior officer on duty, looking things up for him. It was a horrible way for anyone to spend the evening of their begetting day but she had not complained beyond making sure she would be off in time for dinner with her family.

Glorfindel’s actual job was to keep Elen from leaving the office while her family and fellow officers organised a surprise party for her, first suggested by Urúvion who was generally believed to have a bit of a crush on the Lieutenant. They had the use of the staff dining room up at the main house on condition they waited until after the evening meal before setting up. The staff ate early, before the meal in the general dining hall, but they still wouldn’t be ready by the end of the shift, which was why Glorfindel had to keep her occupied: Elen was famous for sniffing out secrets. So far as he could tell, she hadn’t a clue. 

“There’s these as well, sir,” she said, coming over with a box which she put down next to his elbow. “Funny things that never got resolved and that get filed in here for want of a better place. I suppose we shouldn’t do that...?”

Glorfindel flipped through the papers and shook his head. “No, probably not. We need a better filing system; it’d make life easier. Do you know anyone who would be any good at setting that up?”

Elen frowned. “Well, I could probably do it, sir.”

Glorfindel shook his head again. “I like you out on regular patrol, Elen, not stuck behind a desk. Someone else. Unless it’s something you’d really like to do?”

She hesitated. “I like things to be orderly, sir. Having everything where you can find it makes life so much easier. I wouldn’t mind taking a crack at it? I could still do my patrol duties and such, I wouldn’t let it get in the way.”

Glorfindel put down the paper he was trying to focus on. It had all seemed a good idea when he started but was now getting to the point where he was regretting his ambition. He tried to understand someone actually _wanting_ to sort out files. “Well, if you’d like to. We need more cross referencing. I can give you an idea of what I’m looking for...”

A shadow appeared in the doorway bringing with it the scent of expensive perfume – musk roses and cinnamon and other, unidentifiable hints - and then Erestor walked in, dressed in cream stitched with pearls and trimmed discreetly in rose. His hair was up and woven with strands of seed pearls. He looked as though he might be going to a party. For one breath-stopping moment Glorfindel wondered if he had invited himself to Elen’s. 

“Oh, you’re easier to find than I’d expected,” Erestor said, catching sight of him. “Good evening, Lieutenant. Lovely night. Congratulations on your special day.”

Elen and Glorfindel both blinked. Erestor smiled brightly. “People tell me things.” 

Elen straightened up. “Thank you Master Erestor. Are you done with this pile of folders, sir? Can I file them away?”

Glorfindel put together the ones he’d finished with and passed them to her. “Thanks, you can start with these,” he said. “Put them where you can find them. There’s a lot in there about petty theft.” 

He got up and gestured Erestor towards his office, ignoring the curious stares of Elen and the officer waiting to relieve her. “Evening, Erestor. If it’s the matter I raised with you before, we can talk in here.”

In his small office Erestor looked around before sitting unbidden in the visitor’s chair. “Not very big, is it?” he said. “But at least you have a window.”

*Yes, I do,” Glorfindel agreed, taking the seat across the desk from him. “It’s not big but how much space do you need for paperwork?”

“Not a lot, no,” Erestor said placidly. “However I make sure I have something prettier to look at than an old tree.”

Glorfindel was fond of the tree outside his window and frowned but knew better than to try and justify its presence. “Is this about the dates I gave you?”

“What, no foreplay? You wound me, or my pride at least."

“No, no foreplay,” Glorfindel said briskly, not rising to the bait. Erestor, he was learning, liked to tease

Erestor pouted then laughed and produced a neatly folded sheet of paper. "Yes, it's about your dates. This is the full list, yes? Nothing missing?"

Glorfindel took the page and glanced down it. The information he had given Erestor was all there, noted in a meticulous hand. “Nothing missing, no. And?”

Erestor shook his head. “We looked at all the clients on the dates of the fires, we looked at their patterns of appearance too, how often they visited, if that night seemed unusual. There was nothing that stood out, nothing at all.”

The open door caught Glorfindel’s eye and he got up to close it. Sinking back into the chair, he sighed. “Well, it was a long shot at best. I’m sorry to put you to trouble over it.”

Erestor gestured dismissively. “No trouble at all, Medlin was quite taken with the idea of single-handedly catching an arsonist. He’s looking at the patrons with new interest, Yavanna help us all.” He paused. “Did you ever think about the whole business of swearing by the Valar? In the east they have really interesting gods, I would have been able to invoke a god of sensual pleasure and debauchery there instead of poor, staid Yavanna. Or goddess. It’s probably a goddess.”

Glorfindel wasn’t sure whether to be shocked or amused. “I know nothing about eastern gods, Erestor. I’ll have to take your word on it. Did you look for unexpected absences too? Though that might be more subjective.”

“We have some regulars who like a particular day or time of month but there was nothing there either that I could see. I’m sorry, we would have liked to help.”

He looked and sounded sincere, much like the companion from the night in the Hall of Fire. Glorfindel shook himself: he needed to stop thinking about that. “It’s all right, we’re coming up blank everywhere. If anything occurs to you, I’d be more than pleased to hear about it. Lord Elrond wants this sorted out before His Majesty arrives.”

“Oh gods, I thought that was just a rumour. Yes, I imagine Elrond would want it out the way before that.” Erestor looked wickedly amused at the thought. “Well, if there’s anything else we can do...?”

Glorfindel shook his head even as he searched for some reason to keep Erestor there longer. “I’ll let you know, of course. Oh, I had a talk with Denesion. Didn’t mention your name, he thinks one of my men ran into Alassëa. Hopefully it won’t happen again. That’s not a happy man.”

“No, he’s not,” Erestor said quietly. “I’m not sure I want him back as a client.” 

He rose, and Glorfindel grabbed at the first thing he could think of. “How did you know it was Elen’s begetting day?”

Erestor stood still, hand on the back of the chair and looked down at him, full lips twitching as though trying to decide if they should smile. “I could be mysterious but it was quite simple. I had business up near the house and there is a tremendous effort going on to decorate the small dining room. Everyone’s going to look. It’s a little rough and ready,” he added, “but I’m sure she’ll appreciate the thought. Don’t let her out yet though, half the valley knows.”

Glorfindel rose as well. “For a wild moment I thought you were joining us. You’re dressed for a party.”

Amber eyes widened and then Erestor laughed, all honey and smoke. “I’d be tempted now, just for the look on the lieutenant’s face. But no, no, I have a dinner engagement, that’s all, and I thought I’d get the pearls out. It’s not often there’s a chance to dress up in Imladris.”

It was a struggle but Glorfindel managed not to ask who it was he found worth dressing up for.

\-----o

“And there’s also the new roster to be posted, sir. I suppose I could do that too if you have it ready.”

Glorfindel put down his pencil and looked at Elen. His head was starting to twinge a little but he was almost done with the notes he needed to put into an outline for Elrond and if he stopped now he might never get the momentum back again. It was another half mark before Elen’s party, which gave him a firm deadline. It would be hard to reach if the guest of honour kept interrupting him though. “Lieutenant, is there something specific bothering you or are you really just thinking of all these issues one at a time. This is the fourth now, isn’t it?”

Elen looked past him, towards the main office’s shuttered window. “They all seemed relevant to me, sir,” she said stiffly.

Glorfindel sighed. “Yes, they are, but you’d not normally come and ask me. You’d either get on with them, find someone else to get on with them or, in the case of the roster, you’d remind me. As you do every ten days.”

She blushed slightly. “No intention of being a nuisance, sir.”

“Damn it, Elen, you’re not a nuisance. I need reminding. I’ve told you that before. Now what’s bothering you, let’s get to it. You still want to finish in time for dinner with your family, don’t you?”

That did the trick. She straightened and he could see her mentally prepare herself. “Sir, it’s Master Erestor.”

Of all Elen’s likely problems, that one would never have occurred to him. “What about Master Erestor?”

“Well sir, I heard a little of what you and he said before you closed the door– the walls are thin in here, it wasn’t a matter of eavesdropping. And… sir, he is hardly a fit person to be helping us with our inquiries, is he?” Before Glorfindel could gather his thoughts she added in a rush of words, “And how could he know it’s my begetting day, sir? That’s – that’s unsettling. He has no reason to know any of our personal business.”

He managed not to laugh but it took an effort. “Lieutenant, I imagine someone mentioned it last year or the year before and he makes it his business to remember things like that? The right word or smile at the right time never hurt. Not that I noticed it working tonight. As for the other – he deals with a cross section of the valley’s residents, it struck me as possible that someone might show up every time a fire’s been lit or just before. It appears not, but it doesn’t hurt to ask. I don’t think that qualifies as working with him, though he was happy to help. No one knows where the arsonist will hit next, after all. The uncertainty’s probably bad for business and Master Erestor has told me he takes business very seriously.”

Elen looked even more dismayed. He had an urge to pat her hand but resisted it and pulled up a clean sheet of paper instead. “Come on then, if you’re so worried about the roster. Get the last one and write the headings on here while I finish what I’m busy with. You’re not the only one who wants to escape before moonrise.”

\-----o

The party was a big success. Elen had no inkling of what was going on until Glorfindel walked her to the door of the staff dining room on the pretext that a cake had been organised for her to pick up and take home. A lot of greenery had been brought indoors as well as wildflowers in makeshift vases, while the room was hung with paper lanterns and strings of stars that he suspected were normally brought out for the winter celebration. It was all very festive, if a bit garish. He only stayed a short while, long enough to see the gifts unwrapped, drink a cup of wine and have a slice of cake, but not long enough to be a damper on the evening. No one wanted their commanding officer around when there was free wine to be had.

Elen was pink with delight over his present. “Sir, they’re beautiful,” she exclaimed after opening the little bag, stroking an earring with a careful finger before putting them on. “People always give me such practical gifts; I’ve never had something this pretty or delicate. I’ll really treasure them, sir.”

It made the uneasy visit to Denesion’s shop quite worth the while.

There would be no gift for Erestor. Glorfindel toyed seriously with the idea of giving him the necklace, possibly later in the year for Midwinter, but when he thought about it, he had no idea what to say. Instead he put the pretty beads away in their bag until such time as he found a spot to hang them, somewhere they would catch the light.

\-----0

Gil-galad was due within the week and Elrond had all his senior personnel in a stir to make sure Imladris showed the king her very best face. Glorfindel’s main focus was to give the garrison the appearance of an effective fighting force regardless of his personal qualms. At Elrond’s request the war games were to take place a few days after the king’s arrival, which had Glorfindel daily rechecking details up at the command room which was housed along with the barracks on a shelf partway up the cliff.

He and Sidhiel, his second in charge, were pouring over a map of the surrounding countryside when one of her clerks came in, nodding to her before coming to a halt in front of Glorfindel. “Begging your pardon, sir, but there’s a couple of young – persons – outside who say they have to see you.”

“Young persons?” Glorfindel had originally been born in Aman and despite missing a good part of the Second Age still found himself older than most in the valley.

The clerk nodded dubiously. “Yes sir. They say it’s urgent. The young man said you would know him? His name is Alfrinor.”

Glorfindel was blank for a moment longer and then placed the name with a sweet young face and a lot of pale fluffy hair. “Good grief,” he said before he could stop himself, then shrugged. “He was meant to come and find me if he had further information about a certain Patrol matter. I’d better see him. Where are they?”

They were waiting outside in the administrative office, sitting on the bench against the wall, and jumped up at the sight of him. It took him a minute to identify Alfrinor’s companion as Raina, heroine of the battle outside the Pink Flamingo. The gold robe was gone, in favour of more sensible street attire, and her memorable hair was braided and fastened around her head. She still looked angry though.

He glanced at the two clerks, who were pretending to work but covertly watching, and gestured to the door. “I think we should talk out here,” he said. “Leave people to work in peace.”

They followed him outside and that was as long as Raina was prepared to stay quiet. “Alfrinor, tell him what happened. We’re wasting time.”

Glorfindel looked down at Alfrinor expectantly. Blue eyes blinked nervously a few times but Raina gave him a sharp nudge and he said, “It’s Alassëa, my lord. She’s one of Master Erestor’s girls, she works with us...”

“I know who she is, Alfrinor,” Glorfindel said. “I’d heard she had a problem with a client recently. Has something happened?”

“It’s more than attitude from a client this time, m’lord,” Raina interrupted, losing patience and taking over. “We think she might be in real trouble. She’s disappeared.”


	8. Chapter 8

It only took Glorfindel moments to retrieve his cloak from the office, make his excuses to a startled Sidhiel, and collect Raina and Alfrinor on his way back out. They were still arguing and both began talking at once when they saw him. 

“You can explain as we walk,” he told them briskly, taking the main path that led to the steps down to the Bruinen. After a moment’s hesitation, the pair shut up and hurried to catch up.

When they were out of earshot of the admin office he slowed down a bit and said, “Go on, talk. Alassëa’s gone? How? Alfrinor?”

“Well if Alfrinor had just shown some sense...” 

“I was trying to do the right thing,” Alfrinor said with a pout. “I didn’t want to get her in trouble. Not when she was breaking the rules.”

“If you had she’d likely be in less trouble now,” Raina pointed out.

“One at a time,” Glorfindel said. “Alfrinor? No Raina, you get your chance when he’s done.”

She subsided, glowering. 

Alfrinor waited to make sure she was finished before he answered. “I got sent down to Sathi’s, because we ran out of those ugly imported sweets everyone likes. It was mid evening, when we’re all working, but as I was leaving I saw Alassëa going down the road. She had her hood up over her hair but it was still her, I recognised her dress. It was that pretty purple one with the gold detail at the…”

“No one wants to talk fashion right now,” Raina cut in. She was shorter than she had seemed the night outside the Pink Flamingo and had to hurry to keep up. Glorfindel reluctantly adjusted his stride to accommodate her.

Alfrinor flushed and glared at her. Glorfindel moved so that he was between them and briefly wondered if they were related, they certainly bickered like siblings. “Where was she going?” he asked, keeping Alfrinor on course. “Did you speak to her?”

Alfrinor shook his head. “I’d have had to shout. And she wasn’t alone. There was someone with her, arm in arm. Then he put his hand on her back and they turned the corner and I lost sight of them. I went back to the house and didn’t say anything because you need permission to be out at night, especially if you’re not alone, because Master E doesn’t let us go into business for ourselves. He says if we’re going to do that we need to work alone, not expect him to pay our overheads.”

“Oh I’d like to see you manage on your own,” Raina muttered. “Pure comedy that would be.”

They reached the ladder-like steps cut into the rock face and Glorfindel hurried down the almost vertical flight, from habit his fingers barely touching the rail. Raina and Alfrinor were slower and held on tightly. He waited at the bottom, instinctively offering Raina his hand as she reached the end, but she jumped down the last few steps as light as a cat and it was Alfrinor who grasped his hand instead. Glorfindel gave him an awkward pat on the shoulder and let Raina walk between them this time.

“And she didn’t come back?” he prompted. Across the river he could make out a work party at Elrond’s house and the flash of sunlight on glass: they were putting real windows into the solar.

Alfrinor shook his head. “I watched for her as best I could, my lord, but there’s people coming and going all the time plus I had clients… If you really want to sneak out for the night I suppose it’s not too hard, long as no one asks for you by name. There’s always a lot going on and it's not like we're prisoners. As a rule no one does it though, you’d expect Master E to notice you’re not around or the Avari to see you leave….”

“So he told me this morning before breakfast and I went and checked her room. The bed hadn’t been used and her window was open. She must have gone out there. I didn’t know she had it in her.” Raina was grudgingly impressed.

Glorfindel frowned. “So she went off with someone last night, hasn’t been back and her bed wasn’t slept in. Did you check if her clothes were all there?”

Raina gave him an impatient look. “Of course I did, m’lord. Went through her wardrobe and checked her shoes – she loves shoes. Nothing was missing, just the clothes she was wearing. I got him to double check,” she added, jerking a thumb towards Alfrinor. “He always notices clothes.”

“So there’s not much chance she ran off with someone, I suppose,” Glorfindel agreed. “What did Erestor say when you told him?”

Raina looked straight ahead while Alfrinor cleared his throat. “You didn’t tell him?” Glorfindel asked, coming to a halt. The narrow bridge over the Bruinen beckoned, and it had to be crossed in single file, making conversation difficult.

“I didn’t want to get her in trouble, my lord,” Alfrinor said in a small voice. “I thought we could go look for her ourselves… but I didn’t know where his house was and Raina said this was too big just for us and maybe we should tell the Patrol and then I remembered you said I should come to you if I heard anything about the other business and I thought maybe you wouldn’t mind…?”

Glorfindel gave up trying to concentrate on the words rushing past him and latched onto the one bit that seemed clear. “We can go down to the Patrol’s offices and I’ll get the duty officer to take down details. That way they’ll keep an eye out for her, and I can check that she hasn’t left Imladris – we make a note of that.”

“No, m’lord. I’m sure she hasn’t left the valley,” Raina said. “And I don’t know that keeping an eye out for her’s the answer either. It’s not that she’s gone, it’s more who she’s gone _with_ that worries me.”

Alfrinor did a little ‘ooh’ sound and put a hand to his mouth. “I should have said about that first.”

Of course. Alfrinor had referred to ‘his’ house. With the back and forth between the two, Glorfindel had failed to take that in at the time. “You didn’t say you recognised the man,” he said sternly. “Did she go off with the client who hurt her recently? Denesion?”

They shook their heads. “Oh no, my lord, I’d have tried to stop her if she’d gone with him,” Alfrinor said quickly. “Though she was worried about him and said he had something on his heart and hadn’t been himself that night. No, it was the other one. He only comes round now and then, and just to gamble, but he’s easy to recognise on account of the limp.”

“Not Denesion, no,” Raina said. She had drawn herself up, eyes flashing, at mention of his name. She looked so angry he thought she might spit as she had the night of the fight. “The other one, the brother who walks with a limp. Megildur.”

Glorfindel stared at the bridge. He was still quite inexperienced in detective work, but focusing on something ordinary often helped him concentrate and he had an instinct that this would need very clear thinking. The two ‘young persons’ waited patiently, watching him. Even Raina was quiet. 

“Right,” he said finally. “Alfrinor, you get back to the house and make sure she hasn’t come home. This would also be the right time to tell Erestor. Explain you’ve told me and say the Patrol has it in hand. Don’t worry,” he added. “He won’t eat you.”

“The Avari might,” Raina said meanly. 

Alfrinor stood up to her this time. “No he wouldn’t, and if I told Master E you said that, you’d be in more trouble than I will. What do I do if she’s there, my lord?” he asked, turning worried blue eyes up to Glorfindel.

“Then you come and find us and tell us. Use your head.” Raina put her hands on her hips and glared at him. Alfrinor was fully half a head taller but still seemed to look up at her. 

“If she’s at home, you come down to the Patrol’s office and tell whoever’s on duty,” Glorfindel told him patiently. “That should be Lieutenant Elen. She’ll know what to do.”

“And what about me?” Raina asked. It was more courtesy than anything else. It was clear she had already made her mind up about that.

“You’ll come with me,” he said. “When we find her, Alassëa needs to see a familiar face so she’ll know she’s not in any trouble.” Or any more than she might be in already if Megildur had been taking her to meet his possibly unstable brother.

\-----o

He went to the Patrol first, much against Raina’s wishes.

“There isn’t time for this, we should be looking for his house,” she insisted as they took a shortcut through the vegetable garden that grew along the side of Elrond’s house. She had only paused once in her rush to keep up with him and that was to help herself to a handful of vine tomatoes. Glorfindel thought she was getting used to him, she no longer made a point of calling him ‘m’lord’.

“No, we shouldn’t,” he told her firmly. “We need to report her missing first. Then the whole of the Patrol will be looking out for her and asking questions, not just us. After that we’ll go to Denesion’s shop – it’s not far.”

“Why the shop?” Raina demanded, mouth full. “We need to find their house and…”

“Because she wasn’t with Denesion,” Glorfindel said. “She was with his brother. It’s business hours right now, and he ought to be in his shop. That suits our purposes. He can tell us where his brother is and it also puts him in a place where it’ll be easy to question him.”

That, currently, was as much of a plan as he had.

They reached the offices with Raina still muttering that the detour was a waste of time. Once there she stood off to the side and fidgeted while he gave Elen a very bare outline of the potential problem. Elen listened but watched Raina while he was talking, her grim expression making it clear she remembered her from the fight at the Pink Flamingo. Glorfindel was impressed, personally he thought Raina looked very different in day wear.

“So we’re to keep a lookout for this Alassëa and enquire if she needs help if we find her? I’ll need a description, Miss…?”

“Raina,” Glorfindel said hastily. To Raina he said, “Give the lieutenant her description, I have something to see to.”

In his office he scribbled brief notes covering what had so far been decided about the war games plus a list of follow up issues to clarify. He went through the motions quickly, distracted but wanting to get the information down before he forgot. Why would Alassëa have gone off with Denesion’s brother? Had he asked Megildur to bring her to him on some pretext? He remembered Alfrinor implying she had been concerned about him and Erestor saying she was good hearted and sympathetic. That alone might be enough of a reason. 

On his way out he came face to face with the fire chart, as they’d come to call the map designating the suspected arson locations. It had been moved away from the public area to avoid questions. He stopped a moment to look it over, which he did regularly in case something rang a sudden bell. As before, nothing did. It was as well, he supposed; right now he had something potentially almost as serious to deal with. 

Back in the main office Raina and Elen were engaged in animated discussion about a new hair fashion which apparently involved such tight braiding from the front hairline that it was certain to break the hair and possibly cause baldness. Glorfindel stared in disbelief. He had been expecting frosty silence at best, and was prepared for open hostility on Elen’s part. Instead it was as though they had been friends for years. At the sight of him, they stopped talking; there was even a hint of embarrassment, although he would have thought Raina at least a stranger to any such emotion.

“I’ll write this up neatly and put your friend's details over there on the board,” Elen assured Raina. “Don't worry, I’m sure there’s a logical explanation, but this way we’ll all keep an eye out for her.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Glorfindel said, trying to get a quick upside down look at what she had written. “Just make sure you call the next shift’s attention to it. Raina, come.”

“Thanks for the help with the description, Elen,” Raina said over her shoulder as Glorfindel ushered her to the door. “I do hope it’s nothing but muddle-headedness. And let me know when you want me to show you the buffing technique – just ask someone to leave word at the Pink Flamingo and we can meet at that new tea house.”

The tea house was another idea imported from Eregion and was generally regarded as rather too fancy and ‘proper’ for Imladris. Glorfindel was astonished that either of them would want to visit it, let alone together, but decided once again that it was easier not to ask questions. He doubted he would understand the answers anyway.

They walked down to the market, this time in silence, passed the main square and turned into the row that housed Denesion’s shop. It was almost mid-morning and things were quite a lot busier than his previous visit during the lunch hour. When they reached their destination, Raina was out of breath and he remembered belatedly that her legs were not as long as his. 

The shop was closed.

They looked at each other. “There should be a way in, round the back,” Glorfindel said. “I’ll check, you wait here.”

“I’m not waiting here, I’m coming with you,” Raina told him. “I don’t know why we’re doing this though. We need to find his house, not mess around here.”

“We’ll do this by the book, Raina, if you don’t mind. Come on, I think I saw an alleyway leading round the back.”

They retraced their steps, took the dingy turning behind the shops and hurried down. Glorfindel counted under his breath, assuming one long window and one door per shop, until they came to a mutual stop at what had to be Denesion’s. He glanced at Raina who shrugged. “I can also count,” she said.

The door was fastened with a bar and a padlock. He rattled it ineffectually a few times then went to peer in the window. Most of the shop was in shadow, but as far as he could see it was deserted. A sound made him turn, to find Raina crouched by the door, fiddling with the lock. “What in the Pit...?”

“We need to get in there, don’t we? To make sure.”

“What are you _doing_?” Glorfindel bent down to get a better look.

“Opening the door, what does it look like I’m doing? Just need a minute – hair clips are really useful things sometimes, you can open anything with them.”

“You can’t do that, it’s illegal,” Glorfindel said, shocked. He leaned closer, frowning. “How do you get the...?”

“You just poke it in at an angle and wriggle it around until it clicks – ah, like that.” 

The lock clicked open. She pulled it off and drew back the bolt, then hesitated. Glorfindel grinned, he couldn’t help it. “Not so brave now, are you?” he said, opening the door. “What, did you think I’d let you go in first?”

It was obvious there was no one in the shop. Raina looked around in disgust. “He doesn’t have much stock, does he? Can we go find the house now? Or do we have to look under tables and things first?”

Glorfindel was about to admit that he had no idea where Denesion lived and they would have to ask, but her comment about the stock made him look around again. “Either he made some major sales since I was here or there’s a lot of items missing,” he said. “Mainly the better pieces.” The cash box stood open on the table too and was empty. He stared at it, unease starting to grip him. “He’s taken the more valuable stock and whatever was in the cash box. I don’t like the look of this.”

“We need to go to his house _now_ ,” Raina insisted, moving towards the door.

Glorfindel nodded. “Bolt the door. I’m going ahead to find the address.”

\-----o

None of the shop owners knew where Denesion lived except that it was over in the new part so Glorfindel, with Raina in tow, went back past the square to the opposite side of the village. He was starting to wonder if it wouldn’t be quicker and easier to keep a horse or two available for days like this instead of confining their use for trips further down the valley. 

The new development, rows of two floored, narrow houses built back to back from combinations of stone, wood, even mud brick, was in a rocky hollow near the bridge. Unlike other parts of Imladris, it felt confined and crowded. There were fewer trees, but they had an open, grassy space in the centre for community get togethers and festivals and there were tiny strips of garden in front of some of the houses, or pots with geraniums or marigolds. There were also more children than Glorfindel had seen in one place since Tirion. His lips curved into an involuntary smile: there had been few children in Gondolin, all of them precious. 

Without waiting for him to choose a direction, Raina whistled shrilly and beckoned a group of half-grown boys over. “Denesion the smith, where do we find him?” she asked, looking from one to the next. 

The boys exchanged worried glances and the tallest cleared his throat, putting his attention on Glorfindel. “He won’t be home this time of day, my lord,” he said. “He leaves for his shop at first light, only gets home after sundown.”

“That’s all right,” Glorfindel said easily. “If he’s not there I’ll speak to his brother or leave a message with a neighbour. Just point us towards it.”

“And how would you lot know he’s not at home anyhow?” Raina added tartly. “He doesn’t need to ask your leave to take the day off. And why are you not in school?”

Glorfindel hid a smile. He’d had a friend with a sister a bit like Raina, older, bossy, not above dealing out a pinch or a slap, and the boys seemed to recognise her style: no one was prepared to take her on. Instead, after explaining that today was a free day, they went into a huddle, trying to agree on street and house number. Finally the tallest turned back to Glorfindel. “It’s two streets down - that way, my lord,” he said, pointing east. “We think it’s number 18, on the left side.”

“I’ll thank you to let me ask the questions,” Glorfindel told Raina over his shoulder as they backtracked two streets, keeping his voice firm. “That’s my job. You shouldn’t even be here.”

Raina looked scorn at him. “Where else should I be?” she asked, breathing hard; she had to jog to keep up with him now. “If we girls don’t look after one other, I really don’t know who will. There's dead few like Master Erestor.”

Number 18, when they found it, lay in shadow with the narrow windows closed and shuttered, but the door stood wide open and a group of curious or concerned neighbours had formed at a safe distance. It was clear something was wrong. Glorfindel sprinted up to find the door was not just open, it had been ripped off its hinges and was propped against the inside wall. 

He shoved Raina behind him and strode in but had no chance to look around because at the same moment there was a clatter on the narrow wooden stairs that faced the doorway and Erestor came into view. He was looking over the flimsy banister, not at them. 

“No one here,” he called. “Beds are both made. Anything down there?”

“Kitchen be a mess.” The Avari lumbered around a corner with a loaf of bread in his hand. He had just torn a piece off but paused with it half way to his mouth. “The captain’s here,” he said. “And our Raina be with him.”

Erestor fetched up short of them and flicked a glance over Glorfindel before settling on Raina who had frozen at the sight of him. “And you saw fit not to mention any of this to me, because...?”

“There wasn’t time – I mean, I thought we could find her ourselves and get her home if she was in trouble,” Raina said, sounding more subdued than Glorfindel had so far heard her.

Erestor stared. “Well that really worked, didn’t it? You have about as much sense as Alfrinor, and he has the brains of a fish.” To Glorfindel he added, “And no, clearly she did not come home, and it took a ridiculously long time to get that boy to speak in whole sentences. What’s wrong with the kitchen?” 

The last sentence was addressed to the Avari who shrugged and stood aside for him. “Been some upset,” he said. “See for y’self.”

The kitchen was small, functional and generally neat, but the table had been shoved out of place, a wooden chair lay on its side, and a bowl of fruit had been spilled across the floor. Glorfindel took this all in over Erestor’s shoulder with Raina up close behind him, also trying to get a look. 

“Bread and soup,” he said to himself. “That’s dinner, not a morning meal.”

A pot stood on the stove plate of the little oven used both for cooking and heating, the contents congealed and cold. The fire was out. Glorfindel moved past Erestor and went to test it. “This has been out for hours," he said. "Probably since last night. The pot’s half full though... and there’s an empty bowl still on the table.” The unused bowl had slid close to the edge and the spoon was on the floor. There was also a second placemat and a chair still upright. 

“Rinsed bowl and spoon, over there,” Erestor said briefly, gesturing to the two door cabinet under the window, with the washing bowl on top. “One brother had dinner, the other didn’t stay to eat.”

Glorfindel finally had a proper look at him. No expensive, embroidered clothing this time, just a simple tunic, pants and boots worn with a dark blue woollen cloak. His only jewellery was a silver cloak pin, and his hair had been pulled up into a casual knot on top of his head: it suited him but was more practical than stylish. “How did you get here so fast?” he asked, faintly annoyed. Erestor had a way of making him feel superfluous. 

Erestor’s eyebrows went up. “We don’t waste time?” he suggested. “And Medlin knew where Megildur lives so we didn’t mess around as you clearly did.”

“My lord, is something wrong?” The voice behind him came from one of the neighbours he had seen on his way in, a short man with gentle Sindarin features. 

Glorfindel shook his head. “I’m not sure.” He moved towards the doorway. “I think we should talk outside. There’s not much space in here.” Any room containing the Avari and more than one other person was always bound to feel crowded. 

They all trouped out obediently after him. He wasn’t following correct procedure, of course. Elen would have stayed to first sketch the kitchen with its overturned chair and empty bowls, but he was willing to trust his memory this far at least. It was almost lunch time and the crowd outside had swelled, word must have got round that Glorfindel was there. Possibly some knew who Erestor was too, which would add plenty of fodder for speculation. 

“Last night,” Glorfindel said, raising his voice. “Did any of you hear or see anything unusual? And have you seen anyone here today? Denesion, his brother...?”

There was a buzz of conversation and then one of the women came forward. “There were raised voices last night, my lord, around dinner time or a bit after perhaps? That would be Megildur, he has a temper on him. We often hear him shouting.”

“Not Denesion?” Glorfindel asked sharply. “What about him?”

“Oh no, my lord. He’s quiet spoken most of the time, especially with his brother. He doesn’t work, you know. Megildur. Denesion looks after them both with the proceeds from the shop, but that brother of his finds fault with the smallest thing. Last night, no idea what it was about, but nothing unusual – just raised voices and then the door slamming.”

“Someone will have to pay for that door,” one of the men said, pointing to it. “You can’t go around breaking people’s doors like that.”

“We knocked,” Erestor said reasonably. “No one answered. We were concerned. It shouldn’t be too hard to fix,” he added, stepping back to take a look. “It’s not broken; just needs new hinges, I think. That’s simple enough.”

“We can sort that out later,” Glorfindel told him. “Though I’ll be holding you responsible for getting it fixed. Right now...”

“Well, it wasn’t exactly me,” Erestor said demurely. “Do I look like I could do that to a door?”

Glorfindel glared at him. “It was your employee though, which makes you ultimately responsible.”

“Damn the orc-born door into the Darkness,” Raina exclaimed. “None of this tells us where Alassëa is. If no one’s here, then where do we look?”

Erestor blinked. “You really need to get that tongue under control, child. It’ll get you in trouble one day. I have no idea – have you two checked the shop?”

“That’s why you got here ahead of us,” Glorfindel said. “We went there first. It’s closed, Denesion hasn’t been in today. Everyone I spoke to seemed surprised.”

“He’s cleaned out the stock too, and the cashbox,” Raina told Erestor, making Glorfindel compress his lips briefly. He had wanted to keep that information to himself for now but everyone close by could hear her. “He can’t leave the valley without being seen though, can he?” she asked, worried hazel eyes flickering from Erestor to him. There was no reason she shouldn’t tell Erestor, he reminded himself, putting the flare of annoyance aside. There was nothing more normal than for her to share what she knew with him, and under the bravado and attitude he could see fear starting to take shape.

“He can’t leave without being seen,” he assured her more gently than he might have before. “And if he tried he’d be asked for his reasons and would have to wait while they sent someone down to make sure it was in order.” In practice leaving Imladris was normally less stringent, but with the High King’s visit pending the rules were being applied by the book. Glorfindel hoped no one minded. He was not much of a judge: any rule Elrond came up with would seem reasonable compared to being sealed inside Gondolin.

He raised his voice again. “Does anyone know where Denesion or Megildur like to spend their free time? Somewhere we can start looking for ether of them?”

“Are they in trouble, my lord?” asked the neighbour who had told them about the raised voices. “They have their spats and they’re not all that friendly, but there’s never been a problem...”

“Oh no, no,” Erestor said before he could reply, suddenly all charm and dimpled smile. “Nothing like that. We’ve just mislaid something rather important and thought Denesion could help us locate it. Though if we can find his brother, he might know where he’s gone this morning.”

Several pairs of eyes slid towards the unhinged door, then swivelled to the Avari and away again. Glorfindel, who would have been more likely to just kick the door in, tried not to be impressed. 

“Megildur likes to play darts down at the Owl,” someone suggested. “Might be a bit early for that, mind.”

The Sindarin neighbour cleared his throat. “I’m sure you’ve thought of it already, my lord, but have you tried the forge? If Denesion’s not at his shop, then I would look there. It seems the most likely place to find a smith?”

“What an excellent idea,” Erestor said, still smiling. “Why his lordship did not think of it, I cannot imagine.” With a half bow he turned and set off down the road, the Avari two steps behind him. Raina started to say something but instead tugged at Glorfindel’s arm and then hurried off after them. It was left to Glorfindel to see to the official business of getting the door propped across the entrance and asking the neighbours to keep an eye on the house. By the time he was done, Erestor and the others were out of sight. 

He walked back down the road at a decent pace but not fast enough to add to everyone’s already aroused curiosity. Once he rounded the corner, he cursed fluently under his breath and started to run.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest gap between chapters so far. Bad.  
> Longest chapter so far in the fic. Good?  
> What I have learned: I cannot write two multi-part stories at the same time. It's a good lesson.  
> Feels very good to be back with these people.

Glorfindel caught up with Raina, flushed and breathless, just before the market square. She was alone; there was no sign of Erestor or the Avari. 

“Where have they gone?” he asked, slowing to a jog as he reached her.

Raina pointed. “Up ahead. They wouldn’t wait for me.” She sounded singularly put out. 

“I don’t suppose you want to go back to the Patrol offices and tell Elen to send someone down to the forge, do you?” he tried without much hope of success. “Just in case we need help?” He would have liked to leave her and catch up with Erestor and the Avari, but knew he had to keep her with him: she would only get into trouble on her own.

Raina was unimpressed. “There’ll be you and the Avari, _and_ Master Erestor. How much help do you think you need?”

Glorfindel shrugged, grinned. “I don’t know but we’ll soon find out. Come on, you can walk faster than this.”

The forge was not far from where Denesion had his shop, a solid-looking brick and plaster structure set a little back from the road, the only building in the area not crowded by its neighbours. Smoke puffed out a double chimney in what to Glorfindel’s untrained eye looked like a normal manner. As he watched, a woman wearing a smith’s protective apron and gloves came through the heavy wooden double doors and down the steps. Her pace was unhurried and gave no sign of anything amiss within. 

“No one’s seen him today,” a husky voice said from behind them.

Cool and relaxed, with not a hair out of place, there was nothing to suggest Erestor had just run there from the other side of the village. Glorfindel swung round to face him. “Will you stop creeping up on me like that,” he snapped. “It’s damn unsettling.”

“Oh, I just like to prove I haven’t lost my touch,” Erestor said with a flicker of a smile. More seriously he went on, “I’m waiting for Medlin, he’s in there finding out where else we can look. Raina, you shouldn’t be here, it could get messy. Go home.”

Raina tossed her head and glared. “I’m not going anywhere till we find Alassëa.”

Erestor opened his mouth to argue but was distracted by the Avari coming down the steps. Raina moved closer to Glorfindel in a bid to make herself invisible. 

“Nothing?” Erestor asked when the Avari reached them.

He shook his head. “No friends, no gossip, nothing. No work here since five day past.”

Erestor pulled a face, then stood as though lost in thought, eyes half closed. The Avari assumed a long-suffering air but kept quiet, waiting. Glorfindel guessed this was some part of Erestor’s process. He looked around, also hoping for inspiration. Another smith came out of the building and down the steps carrying a heavy box. He went off down the road, walking slowly and keeping to the side. Glorfindel followed him with his eyes. 

Raina was also watching. “Would Denesion keep his tools for the forge and such in the shop?” she asked. “I never saw anything. I mean, look there, that smith. He’s carrying a tool box. Can’t leave everything behind in the forge, I suppose – it’s probably just like at home, people ‘borrow’ all the time.” 

“Storage,” Erestor and Glorfindel said at the same time. “There’s nothing in the shop?” Erestor asked. “Medlin, go see if he has a storeroom somewhere.” 

“We didn’t look around much but there was very little, certainly no smith’s tools or raw ingots,” Glorfindel said. “He has a work bench, but that’s laid out for finer design work.”

“None of this makes sense,” Erestor said almost to himself. “Why would she go with his brother, and willingly? She may know him by sight but I’m almost sure that’s all. Why have they both vanished?”

“She was worried about Denesion,” Raina said. “She said so. He must have played on that.”

The Avari – Glorfindel found it hard to think of him as Medlin - was on his way back within minutes, moving fast. Erestor hurried after him, followed by Glorfindel and Raina. “Down and along,” he shouted over his shoulder. “Between forge and river, there be space the smiths can rent.”

Glorfindel noticed a few curious glances and realised how this must look. “Slow down,” he said. “If people see us all running, they’ll know something’s wrong. We don’t want to attract a crowd.”

Erestor slowed to a brisk walk. “We’ll be out of daylight soon. Medlin, he’s right. Slower.”

“Our Alassëa be at risk,” the Avari grated, but he did as he was told. Glorfindel had expected him to argue. He wondered, not for the first time that day, about the story behind that relationship. 

The village was growing organically rather than following a plan and they rounded the corner into one of the still undeveloped parts, which would have been uncomfortably quiet were it not for the cacophony from the forge. There seemed to be no one else around: he assumed the Avari knew where he was going. They were cutting through the long grass between a shed and the backs of a couple of workshops when Raina gripped his arm. For a moment he thought she was holding on for support, but when she tugged impatiently he looked where she was pointing. “Smoke. Near the forge. Look.”

The plume of smoke wasn’t thick, but it had the dark, roiling look that Glorfindel associated with oil. The Avari shouted something and took off like a hare with Erestor on his heels: Glorfindel had no idea what he was saying but knew swearing when he heard it. 

The smoke was coming from a flat-roofed wooden structure, a bit like a stable with a line of doors, each with a small horn window set above to allow some light. Bushes filled the space between it and the forge, broken further down by a path of rough flagstones. Glorfindel knew that had he been the one asking questions, they would have been given the use of that more direct route to the storerooms, but an angry Dark Elf was a different matter entirely. 

The smoke curled from a window about a third of the way along. “Is that Denesion’s?” Erestor shouted after the Avari, not waiting for an answer. 

Raina seemed to have found her second wind and put on a burst of speed, but Glorfindel caught her by the arm and made her stop. “Stay here, don’t move,” he told her. She started to argue and he turned on her glaring, a finger raised. “Not one word! This isn’t a game.”

She blinked unhappily after Erestor and then nodded hard.

On closer inspection the storeroom doors were nothing like the one at Denesion’s house. These rooms were intended to keep valuable tools and metals and were secured appropriately. The Avari grabbed hold of the handle and let go at once with a hiss. “Hot,” he growled.

“We’ll have to break it down,” Glorfindel said. He could hear faint crackling behind the wood

“Someone’s in there,” Erestor said sharply. “I can hear groaning. Medlin...”

The Avari backed up from the door. Glorfindel saw what he was about to do and was stepping back to join him when Raina screamed. “There. He’s there! Look.”

They all spun round to look - the Avari was off balance and stumbled – but all they got was the rear view of a man heading into the trees at the water’s edge. It was impossible to identify him from that distance, but he did seem to have a slight limp. Like Denesion’s brother. There was a moment of split focus where Glorfindel had to decide his priority. Whoever that was, it was important to stop him. On the other hand, Erestor had said he could hear someone in there... 

“Get him,” he ordered the Avari. “I’ll see to this.” Not waiting to see the interplay where the Avari would look to Erestor for confirmation, receive it, and only then head for the tree line, he took a few more paces back and charged the door, hitting it at speed. Pain speared through his shoulder and down his arm. The door rocked but held. It took three attempts before the wood finally splintered, though the lock stayed intact. 

Hot air rushed out at him, searing his lungs, and acrid smoke had him doubled over, coughing. Straightening, he found clean air from somewhere and kicked the opening wider, then pulled planks away to make space enough to enter.

Through the smoke he could see a smallish space, some shapes that might have been boxes, the outline of a shelf on the wall. Flames flickered and leapt in a corner, not yet ready to devour but preparing for it. He could hear whimpering now too, down on floor level, and through the smoke he could make out movement. Abruptly the flames found something to fasten on and blazed up. He had opened the door, fire fed on air… Instinctively he stepped back, his heart hammering. For a moment time and place wavered and the sick feeling was in his stomach again, but he pushed past it: this was no time to indulge the past. He knelt, groping in the gloom, and found a girl’s arm and shoulder. There was something wrong about their angle, and then his hand reached her wrist and felt rope and he realised she was bound.

“Alassëa?” he asked, keeping his breathing light and trying not to cough. “You’re safe, everything’s going to be all right. Let’s get you out of here. Can you stand?”

She was sobbing, the words indistinct. After a moment, Glorfindel got his hand to her face and found she was gagged. Furious that someone in his valley could have done this, he removed the cloth. She got to her knees, coughing and gasping, words falling over themselves. “He tied my feet, I can’t walk…. Denesion – he’s been stabbed; you have to help him.”

The words made no sense, but then Glorfindel realised they didn’t have to. Someone was on the floor, possibly bleeding, and the how and why of it could wait for later. Alassëa had pulled away from him and was leaning over a shape made indistinct by the smoke. Glorfindel followed her. Denesion lay quite still, but he could feel shallow breathing under his hand. The flames had grown brighter, wider, and the storeroom was unbearably hot. He felt himself wavering between time and place again, even as he prepared to hoist the unresponsive body over his shoulder, but then Erestor’s hand was on his back and his voice was steadying. “All right? You take him, I’ll see to Alassëa. Quickly, before it gets worse.”

Glorfindel stumbled outside with Denesion over his shoulder. The gap in the door had somehow widened since he went in; Erestor’s work, he supposed. His eyes were stinging and half blinded by the smoke, but he kept walking till he reached grass before he stopped and lowered the inert figure from his shoulder onto the ground. He could hear the shouts that heralded the arrival of one of the local fire units and already people were arriving. Some would just flocked like sheep to see what was going on but others, hopefully, had stopped to fetch wet sacks and buckets. 

Denesion was waxen, his eyes closed, lips parted. The front of his tunic was soaked with blood that was still welling from somewhere around waist level. Kneeling beside him, Glorfindel felt for the heart point in his throat: the pulse was thready and erratic. He left it and pulled the tunic up to try and see the damage. Over his shoulder Erestor said, “That needs a healer right now.” A dagger’s cold hilt was pressed into his hand. “Here, use this, cut it away. They’ll have to get straight at it anyhow.”

“Alassëa?” he asked, slitting the coarse fabric. Somehow he was not surprised to find the blade was razor sharp. “Is she hurt?”

“Still coughing as you can hear, but she seems to have nothing worse than bruises. He had her wrists and ankles tied, otherwise she’d have been able to find a way out. And she says she was gagged?”

“I took it out, yes,” Glorfindel said grimly, making a pad from part of the tunic and applying pressure with his hand to the stomach wound – the worst damage you could do with a knife and likely to be fatal, he knew. “He half choked her with the thing. And there was no one around when we got here. Even if she’d got the gag loose, you could do a lot of screaming here and not be heard.”

Alassëa pushed past Erestor and dropped down next to Denesion, her eyes wide and frightened. “Oh please tell me he isn’t going to die. He tried to save me...” 

Her words ended on a fit of coughing. Glorfindel caught Erestor’s eye and raised an eyebrow. Erestor shook his head and shrugged minutely. He didn’t understand either. “They’ll take him up to the house, to the healers, child. They’ll do what they can – we have the best in the world here.”

“Alassëa,” Glorfindel said, trying to be gentle but needing facts. “Just to be clear, who did this to him and you?”

She never looked up from tidying back Denesion’s hair. “Megildur, of course. Who else? I only came with him because I thought Denesion needed my help...”

“The brother?” Erestor murmured to him. “I still don’t understand.”

Glorfindel kept pressure on the wound and watched flames being doused and the efforts to wet the ground beyond the storeroom. The predictable bystanders stood a little back from the action, curious about injuries even though there would be no massive conflagration after all. Someone had been quick in sending for help. A grey-clad healer was hurrying towards them followed by two assistants carrying a stretcher. Further off he could see the Avari coming back through the trees. He was alone.

“Nor do I,” he said to Erestor. “And there’ll be no answers till Alassëa’s ready to explain. But he won’t get far. It’s not a very big valley, not all that easy to vanish in and even harder to leave.”

\-----o

Despite her protests, Erestor insisted what Alassëa needed was tea, a good wash and some friendly faces, and that she could see Denesion once they both had a chance to recover. He left no room for argument. Raina tagged along, promising Glorfindel to let ‘that nice Elen’ know where he could find them. The fire was under control and two members of the Patrol had finally shown up and were fending off questions from the crowd. Glorfindel left them to deal with the mopping up and damage assessment and followed Denesion and the healer back up to the house. 

By the time he reached the Patrol’s offices he had made his mind up about keeping a horse handy. 

He had a description of Megildur sent out to the current patrols, plus a warning that he was dangerous and to be approached with extreme caution. Elen wrote up a basic description to put on the board. She was full of questions to which he had few answers except that yes, ‘that nice Raina’ was unhurt, just a bit shaken.

Once that was seen to, he went down to the infirmary to check on Denesion. A young healer in a grey robe and an apron made him sit down quietly and wait, promising that someone would be out to talk to him shortly. They always said that. Glorfindel thought her concept of soon might not be the same as his. He itched to be part of the hunt for Megildur, but it was his job to find out the how and the why of this, not just rush off blindly into action. His lips twitched in a wry smile. He had learned a few hard lessons in his time about being impulsive.

The bench was padded, there were even a few cushions. He sat with the back of his head resting against the wall and forced himself to relax. The regular passage past his seat of healers, mostly young trainees, the familiar, normal sounds of footsteps, crockery, chairs being moved and birdsong coming in through the open door almost lulled him to sleep. When Elrond spoke, he jerked embarrassingly, smacking his head against the wall. He straightened up, rubbing it ruefully.

“I hear you’re the one who knew to apply pressure till the healer got there? You might have saved his life. As it is, he’s lost a lot of blood over a period of hours – he’s as likely to sink into shock as he is to rally… None of that blood’s yours, is it?”

Glorfindel glanced down ruefully. “Didn’t have time to change and then I forgot about it. No, that’s all Denesion’s. The rest of the mess is smoke damage. I need to make myself presentable I suppose. He didn’t say anything, did he? I don’t understand any of this right now.”

Elrond sat down next to him on the bench with a sigh. “I wasn’t about to question him, no. He barely knew where he was. He was worried about someone called Alassëa, so I took a chance and said she was all right?”

“One of the girls from the Pink Flamingo. As far as I can work out, Denesion’s brother tried to kill them both. She’s fine though, or will be once her chest clears. There was a lot of smoke.”

“There was another fire?” Elrond straightened up. “I smelt smoke when I was working on him but there were no burns so it didn’t signify.”

Glorfindel gave him a tired grin. “Sorry, I thought the healer would have explained. The brother locked them in a storeroom and left them to burn. The fire was under control when I left so I stopped thinking about it for a while. It was behind the forge – best place for it, they must know all about putting out random fires.” 

He pushed himself to his feet while he was speaking and Elrond rose too, rather reluctantly. “Go and change first. And at some point I’d take it as a courtesy if you could stop by and tell me what in the Void is going on here. And that it’ll be over before the king arrives – you have about three days.”

“I’ll do that as soon as I know myself,” Glorfindel promised him. “Oh, and when you have a chance to authorise it? The Patrol needs a few more horses, not just the handful kept for valley duty. I had as much exercise today as I’d normally see in a week.”

\-----o

When he got back to the office, the only people present were the duty officer and a scrappy little girl called Belethiel, an informal messenger who saw herself as a junior member of the Patrol despite being years away from her Majority. Her father was one of the garrison’s best trackers, which in a way explained everything to Glorfindel who was convinced that all trackers were a bit strange.

“They’re all out looking for Megildur, sir,” Suiadan told him. “We’ve got them working in twos, Lieutenant Elen’s idea – cover a wider area than threes like we normally do, she said.” He frowned, rubbed his nose. “She’s had that idea for a time now. Was I right to agree?”

Glorfindel shrugged. “It’s Elen. And sometimes it’s good to try new ideas, it’s the only way things improve. I’d not normally experiment during an emergency, but she’s right, our resources are stretched.” He could bring down half the garrison if he chose, but he was reluctant. The Patrol was trained to deal with, and work alongside, civilians. He decided to wait and see if it became necessary.

Suiadan was holding something out to him. “The lieutenant left this for you, sir.”

“What’s – oh.” It was a note in Elen’s firm hand, with an address. No further details. He raised an eyebrow at Suiadan.

“The girl who was here earlier came back and said she had to give you an address, and the lieutenant wrote it down and said to be sure and get it to you and then left with her,” Suiadan said in a very neutral voice. Apparently he knew who Raina was.

“Hm.” Glorfindel looked at the address again. He thought it was near the market, though the street name was unfamiliar. Fortunately, there was a map of the village next to the board where the shifts were posted. “Do you understand women, Suiadan?”

Suiadan shook his head. “Not a clue, sir.”

Glorfindel nodded. “Good man. Neither do I.”

\-----0

Dandelion Lane was in an established part of Imladris but easy to miss, tucked in between shops and two-storeyed homes. Narrow but pretty, it was lined with neat semi-detached cottages, each with a tiny strip of garden in front. Number 15 had chicory and late blooming roses, with honeysuckle twining around a trellis near the door. He paused to breathe in the clear, sweet scent and enjoy a moment of late afternoon peace before he knocked.

The door was opened by a boy who he recognised with a start as the eldest child from the night of the fire when Erestor had rescued three children and a disoriented warrior. They stared at each other a moment, then the boy turned and yelled “Nana!” over his shoulder.

Instead of his mother, Raina appeared. “No need to yell,” she told him. “Your mother’s not deaf. Nor are the rest of us.” She pushed the side of his head in a friendly way, then held the door for Glorfindel who took the invitation and came in. There was a little entrance hall with doorways going off it and a not very good painting of flowers on one wall. “We’re through there in the parlour, m’lord,” she said, indicating a doorway to the left. “Master E thought she wouldn’t want to go back to the house just yet.”

The parlour was comfortable but crowded. Wrapped in a blanket, Alassëa sat on the couch with two other women and another child, younger than the boy who had come to the door, cuddled in against her arm. Elen rose from a well-worn armchair as he entered, hastily putting down a cup. Erestor was in the room’s other chair, the third child, a little girl, on his lap. She surveyed Glorfindel with suspicion for a moment and then leaned back, apparently satisfied that the newcomer was harmless.

“Erestor,” Glorfindel said with a nod, pretending there was nothing unexpected about finding him with a child on his lap. “Where’s Medlin?” he added looking around, though it would have been hard to conceal someone as large as the Avari in an average sized room.

“He’s gone home to update everyone, otherwise they just make it up as they go along,” Erestor said dryly. “Someone needs to do introductions, I suppose - that’s Nessima over there with the red hair and her sister Caladwen. They’re Alassëa‘s cousins. It was Nessima’s house that was on fire the night you ran into us. She and the children are staying here till her husband gets back and can do some repairs. His lordship would probably like some tea, Nessima,” he added in a tone that was just one degree short of an order. “He’s had a long day.”

A long day, fuelled by nothing more than lembas and some lukewarm tea, but before Glorfindel could accept, Alassëa came over to him clutching the blanket around her shoulders. There had been no time to register much about her earlier, but he now saw she was short and curvy, with honeyed streaks in her hair and soft grey eyes. Erestor was right. Not a stunning beauty, but gentle-seeming and approachable. “My lord - Denesion?” she asked. “How is he? I wanted to see him but they wouldn’t let me...” She broke off, overwhelmed by a violent coughing fit.

Glorfindel took her arm and led her back to the couch. “Someone – Elen, get her some water. Lord Elrond saw to him personally Alassëa, and he’s sleeping. They wouldn’t let you in to see him if you went there now, he has to rest.” There was no need to tell her how serious his injuries were, not right now.

Some of the tension left Alassëa’s face. Still coughing she sank down onto the couch beside Nessima, who started rubbing her back. Elen returned with a cup of water. “It’s the smoke, sir,” she told him unnecessarily as she handed it over.

“Yes, I know,” he replied. “Have you taken a statement yet, Lieutenant, or did you wait for me?”

Alassëa drank deeply. Elen looked embarrassed. “I thought it best if you ask the questions yourself, sir,” she said. “I don’t have all the facts. I just came along to make sure everything was all right, no healer needed or such, though Raina said she thought not.”

Elen liked doing things by the book, but the usual rules failed to apply here. Glorfindel was pleased to see she could be flexible. “Good decision. Alassëa won’t want to go over the same ground twice.” He glanced around, settled on Caladwen whose home this was. “Can I trouble you? The lieutenant and I just need a few minutes with Alassëa...?”

She got up at once, nodding. “Yes, of course, my lord. Come,” she said to Nessima. “The boys can play outside, and you can help me start dinner.”

Nessima took the child on the couch by his arm. “Come on, Lon. Outside now. Go with Auntie Raina.”

‘Auntie Raina’ looked unimpressed and stayed put, perched on the arm of the chair Elen had vacated. Lon was having none of it. “Not going! Want to stay by Auntie Ali. Don’t _like_ outside!”

“Lon, don’t be difficult now. We _all_ have to go outside,” his mother said helplessly. Glorfindel saw the colour creeping into her cheeks and felt sorry for her. 

Raina huffed impatience. “Lon, Dûrion, Bug? Stop wasting his lordship’s time. Out.”

Erestor was trying not to laugh. “Bug can stay here with me, she’s too young to gossip.” He glanced at Glorfindel. “What? Yes of course I’m staying. What did you imagine?” 

The boys didn’t argue further, though they took their time leaving, throwing pleading looks to Raina rather than their mother on their way to the door. She ignored them and went over to sit beside Alassëa. Erestor said nothing and Glorfindel didn’t have the energy left to try and send her out along with Nessima and Caladwen. An awkward silence fell. Outside he could hear a cart trundling down the lane and the boys arguing about the height of a balrog. 

“Big, I would imagine,” Erestor said dryly.

Glorfindel took a breath and was surprised to find he was laughing. “Very big, yes.”

With the silence broken, Elen took her notebook out and cleared her throat. “Alassëa, if you’re ready, we can begin. Sir?”

He took the seat Elen had vacated in an effort not to seem intimidating. “Right, let’s see what I know – which isn’t a lot. Alfrinor saw you last night with Megildur, then he and Raina reported you missing today and we found you in that storeroom this afternoon. We need to know what happened in between.”

“Am I in trouble?” Alassëa asked, suddenly worried. 

“No, no of course not,” Glorfindel assured her. “I’m sure you’ve done nothing wrong.”

“No one here is in trouble, Alassëa,” Erestor said firmly. “But his lordship isn’t the only one who wants the full story. What in the Pit did you get yourself into here?”

Alassëa took a deep breath and moved closer to Raina. “Megildur stopped me on my way home – I’d been down here for the afternoon – and said that Denesion was upset about something and would I please go and see him because he couldn’t come to the house. And I told him I had to be home, but I could meet him later. And he said that was fine, but I wasn’t to tell anyone. He said – he said he wanted to spare Denesion gossip, which sort of made sense the way he put it but didn’t afterwards when I had time to think back.”

“Ali, that’s daft,” Raina exclaimed. “Why would anyone care enough to gossip about him?”

“She’s trying to tell us,” Elen pointed out. “If we just give her a chance.”

Raina bit down firmly on her lip and to Glorfindel’s surprise was quiet. 

“Anyhow, I waited till it was busy and I – um – climbed out the window?” Alassëa shot a worried look at Erestor who gave an unsurprised shrug. “I met him at the corner and we went down the market. I thought we’d go to the house, but he said no, his brother was in his storeroom and it was a better place to talk because the neighbours were nosy…” She put a hand to her mouth, her face crumpling. “I feel so stupid now,” she whispered.

Raina passed her an already damp handkerchief and she dabbed at her eyes. “Thanks. Anyhow… I’m sorry, my lord… anyhow, we got there and, and it was dark and there was so much noise from the forge. The room was empty and Megildur said oh, he must have gone back into the forge, we can wait inside. So we went in and he lit a lantern and I was getting scared, it just felt wrong. And then he – shut the door and I heard the bolt and... and then he grabbed me and I tried to fight, but he was hurting me. “

“You can stop for a minute if you’d like,” Glorfindel said gently. “Just take your time, there’s no need to rush.”

“Thank you, my lord,” she said with a shake of the head. “I’m all right. I thought he was going to, you know, force me, but he just tied me up and I was crying and kept asking him why, why? And he said I knew Denesion had been at the fire and that you might ask questions so he had to make sure neither of us could talk. I tried to scream but he hit me and said I was wasting my breath, no one could hear me there. And then he shoved something in my mouth....” 

Raina put an arm round her and hushed her. Erestor, who was stroking the child’s hair, his face expressionless, said, “It’s over and you’re safe, he’s not going to hurt you again. Let’s just get this done, all right?”

Alassëa sniffed a little but nodded. “No, you’re right, it’s over now. He left me there and I tried to get free but when I struggled I couldn’t breathe and I was so scared... He returned later, pacing around, muttering to himself, and then Denesion came in, banging the door open. He said his key was missing and knew it had to be Megildur, then he saw me and tried to get to me and they fought.” 

Glorfindel could see her shivering from where he sat and wished he could have waited a while before making her relive the experience. 

“Denesion was shouting that he was a fool and it had to stop. It was only a matter of time before someone saw him start a fire, they’d already had to run from Mithlond because of it, and he wasn’t going to let him hurt me --- But Megildur had a knife and, and, and stabbed him. I’m not sure he even meant to, but…” 

She fell silent and Glorfindel waited. Raina leaned a little to the side so she could see what Elen, sitting on a stool near the unlit hearth, was writing. In a low, shaking voice Alassëa went on, “He tied Denesion up and gagged him like me. He was groaning and I couldn’t do a thing.... Then Megildur left again. I could hear Denesion breathing, I knew he was in pain. I managed to move next to him, but that was all I could do --- and it was hours. I could see light through the window, I even heard people go past and I couldn’t get their attention. And there was so much blood. Then - he came back.” 

She put the hand with the handkerchief to her mouth and started to cry. Erestor put Bug down on the chair and came to crouch in front of her, taking her free hand in his. “And he set a fire and locked the door,” he finished softly for her. “All because you’re a kind girl who wanted to help and his brother wasn’t willing to shield him any longer. But it’s done now. You’re not hurt, Denesion is getting care, and Lord Glorfindel’s people will catch that bastard and make sure he never hurts anyone ever again. And till then, I promise we will keep you safe.” 

Between them Raina and Erestor – mainly Raina - decided it was best for Alassëa to stay with her cousins, somewhere Megildur wouldn’t know to look for her. Elen offered to see Raina to the Pink Flamingo as soon as Alassëa was settled and then go and write up her notes properly. Someone from the Patrol would come down and spend the night, just in case. It was all in hand without him having to do anything, so Glorfindel excused himself to finally get something more substantial than lembas to eat and then join the search. 

Erestor left with him. They hesitated in the small strip of garden. Erestor plucked a honeysuckle bloom and tucked it into his hair. “You’re a regular here, it seems?” Glorfindel asked. “At least judging from the children.”

Erestor shrugged, smiled. “They’ve known me all their lives. We understand each other. The sisters came out of Ost-in-Edhil with us – not as part of the group, but where we could find family or friends, we took them with us. Caladwen’s the sensible one. Nessima’s not a bad girl, she just doesn’t think things through. I always feel I should keep an eye on her – someone has to and she seldom listens to Caladwen or Alassëa. She met Arandur, her husband, when we’d been here a while, but he’s always off with some trade group or other so ...”

“So you stop by now and then to make sure they’re all right,” Glorfindel finished, smiling. It was so unlikely and yet in its way so like Erestor. “And when you heard there was a fire...”

“It was too close to where they live,” Erestor agreed. “I’ll be honest, I thought there was a chance she’d set a candle too close to a curtain or something. Instead she’d just run down to Caladwen to borrow some salve. And yes, I told her off very thoroughly for that, though she got such a fright it was hardly necessary.”

Glorfindel looked around. The shadows were growing long, and the sun had already dropped behind the mountain. The rock had rose gold tints to it, the air was still and warm. It was hard to believe that somewhere in the valley there hid a man who had just tried to burn alive his brother and a girl he barely knew.

“Ugly,” said Erestor, as though he had spoken aloud. “The way things can twist in a person’s mind. You’re going to join the search now?”

“I need to eat something and fill Elrond in first, but after that, yes. What about you? I thought you’d stay here a while.”

Erestor grimaced. “There’s more than enough people here, I’m going home. I think we’ll close tonight, no one will feel much like working. In our own dysfunctional way, we’re a family.”

“I’ll come by and make sure everything’s all right later – if I may, that is?” The offer was instinctive, but he instantly remembered his last visit to the Pink Flamingo and felt awkward.

Once again Erestor seemed to know what he was thinking. “Come by and have a drink – wine or kaffee, whichever takes your fancy,” he said, amused. “There might even be some orange shortbread. And don’t worry, this time I’ll be sure and have Medlin let you in. Meanwhile - good hunting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Belethiel: strong one  
> Nessima: youthful  
> Caladwen: light  
> Dûrion: dark one  
> Bug: (no idea what her real name is)  
> Arandur: care taker


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wishing everyone a safe, blessed holiday season however you celebrate, and all the best for 2017.

Dinner was already over by the time Beridhren’s patrol got back from asking questions down the valley, and Elen and Suiadan from doing more of the same round the village, but the kitchen agreed to put together a dish from leftovers and supplied a basket of fresh-baked flatbreads to go with it. Glorfindel collected them and the other three who had in effect worked a double shift and took them outside to eat under the stars, away from the chaos of shift change. Lagion was very taken with the idea, declaring it to be ‘just like elves in the old times’. 

Glorfindel, who was one of those old time elves, hid a smile. He remembered meals under starlight on patrol above Gondolin, and how they had wished for four walls and a good lamp. The light spilling through the office windows would have been treason though, because of the shortage of oil. Eating from the communal pot and wrapping portions of not easily identified stew in pieces of unleavened bread was another time-honoured custom out of his past, and it seemed somehow to bring them closer together, sitting on the grass on the verge of the gravelled practice area in a busy half circle. 

“It never really felt like someone acting on a grudge,” Elen said. “More like he was a chancer who liked to see things burn when the mood took him, or – or something pushed him to it. We never found a connection between the fires.”

“Still doesn’t make sense to me,” Beridhren said. “Alagos? This is your thing. What do you think?”

Alagos shrugged. “I just know a little about how fires start, what might have been used to start them and sometimes how best to put them out,” he said, tearing off another corner of flatbread and helping himself to more stew. “I don’t pretend to know much about why.”

“No one said ‘Oh, he always had a problem with ...’ in any of my interviews,” Elen went on round a mouthful. “I think Denesion might have had a few fallings out with people who got the rough end of the fires, but that might have been coincidence. No one had much to say about Megildur.”

“Denesion fell out with everyone,” Urúvion said. He had tried in vain to sit beside Elen but wasn’t fast enough. Instead he took the next best option, a spot that put him at an angle where he could watch her without having to crane his neck. He seemed not to realise how obvious it all was. “That’s a man who has problems with the world.”

“Life never went the way he hoped or imagined,” Glorfindel remarked, giving way to an instinct to protect someone from a shared past. “He lost everything...”

Several heads swung in his direction; he suspected they had forgotten he was there. “Begging your pardon, sir, but that would apply to half the people living here,” Elen said. “There’s any number that escaped Ost-in-Edhil with no more than the clothes on their backs and a light bag, and some of those came from Sirion before that. They don’t go around setting fires and trying to kill people.”

She sounded young and outraged, which described most of the Valley Patrol that night. Sometimes he was more aware of his age than at others, and this was one such. He had stumbled through the nightmare that was Alqualondë and seen the flames across the sea from Losgar: it took a lot to outrage him. The main emotion Megildur elicited from him was anger, anger that he should try and harm Alassëa or the brother whose greatest fault had been trying to protect him from himself.

“How could someone try and kill anyone that way, let alone their own brother?” Urúvion asked quietly, voicing all their thoughts. “I can understand in the heat of the moment, perhaps, in a fight, and it not intended, but to leave him bleeding and then come back and set a fire… how does anyone do that? And the girl, I forget her name, meant him no harm at all. She barely knew who he was.”

“It’s crazy, but anyone who goes around setting fires for no reason has to be crazy. Maybe it’s just a step up from that100,” Beridhren hazarded. Finished eating, he was surreptitiously cleaning his fingers on the grass. “We knew we weren’t looking for a normal person.”

“I know sir, but he’s an elf.”

That was the heart of it, of course. Elves did not set arbitrary fires and destroy property. Nor did they attempt fratricide. Well, there had been Fëanor and Fingolfin, but he’d always thought that was for show and they had probably scared themselves at least as much as each other. 

“Burning and killing, the two don’t necessarily go together,” Alagos said as he considered and then gave way to the urge for another bite. “The fires – they expanded, got bigger, and he started learning from his mistakes, making fires that were less easy to spot at the start and would spread further. And he’s not the first elf I’ve heard of who did such things. There were a couple of cases in Lindon, as well. But the killing – that’s another matter entirely and – and perhaps that is where his fear of being caught overwhelmed his fear of directly harming someone.”

“He tried to harm people with every fire he lit,” Elen said, sharply practical.

“But this was different,” Glorfindel suggested when Alagos hesitated. “Anyone caught in the other fires would have been incidental, an accident, something he could rationalise. They were about destruction of property, not people. But at the end…”

“What happened yesterday and today were not accidental,” Urúvion said slowly. “It wasn’t about fire.”

“The fire was a means to an end,” Alagos agreed, although Elen was shaking her head and frowning. “His natural response and a way of covering his tracks. He probably thought it was fitting, but his intent was to silence the two people who could report him. When we know why he was setting the fires, maybe then we’ll understand why he chose to kill rather than run.”

\-----o

He took a walk over to the infirmary after they went their separate ways. Elrond had left for the night after spending time with Denesion, but the young healer on duty for the evening let him go through and see the patient. The scent of honey met him as he went into the room and he noticed Denesion’s arm was bandaged. He hadn’t registered any burns at the time but was more concerned with the stab wounds and the amount of blood being lost. Denesion was asleep, he assumed drugged. His face waxy-pale but his breathing even, which seemed like a good sign.

The earlier full scale search had been scaled down for the night. The regular teams were still out patrolling, doubly alert for anything suspicious, and he had gone along with Elen’s idea of increasing team members from two to three. Walking always helped him think so now that was what he did, not taking a particular direction, just following the night. The moon had already set behind the mountain and it was dark around those parts of Elrond’s house that were not torch lit. Soft night noises came and went over a permanent backdrop of frog calls and hunting owls. He went past the kitchen, pausing to stroke a cat, and around to the stables where he had set a watch for the night, just in case. All was quiet there and the two-man team – well, one man and one woman to be correct – were awake and bored. He remembered watches like that and smiled wryly at the memory as he left. 

Listening to the talk earlier over dinner had left him wondering if Elen could be right, if everyone who survived slaughter and sack had turned out normal and untouched. He doubted it. Megildur had been a warrior and was wounded badly in the fighting for Gondolin. Somehow he had made it to the tunnel, possibly helped by his brother – Glorfindel couldn’t recall either of them from that night, but a lot had been going on. Something he did remember clearly were the flames. The invaders set fires as they went, a deliberate act to sow even more confusion, and Gondolin had burned around him. One of his last clear memories from the pass was of looking down and seeing the city on fire, of breathing smoke-heavy air even before his final encounter with fire incarnate. 

He wondered what Megildur remembered of that night, how it had played out for him, what he had lost, how that burning city had marked him. Perhaps when Denesion woke, assuming he did wake, he would have some answers. There were rumours of other survivors who had adapted badly to life after the Hidden City. Regardless of what those young members of the Patrol might think, he suspected Megildur might not be alone.

He took the path that led to the village, alert for sounds at odds with the night and for unusual movement. There was none, except for one of the patrols who were as startled as he was to run into anyone along the road. They were on their way back to the office and had nothing to report. He wasn’t sure at what point his destination became the Pink Flamingo, perhaps somewhere around the market square when his feet started taking him down towards the river and off to the edge of town. There were few people out; even the Hall of Fire had been almost deserted when he passed. It was getting late and word of what had happened earlier in the day would have spread, inducing people to get indoors early. 

The river sounded very loud along the lane to the Pink Flamingo, something he had barely noticed before. He walked slowly, looking at the houses on either side. There was light coming from behind drawn shades and a few lanterns at doorways but here too, no one was out. The door of the big house at the end of the lane stood open, but instead of the usual blaze of lights there was only a lamp burning at the front entrance and muted light coming from two of the windows. There were no horses outside and no music. 

He took the steps up to the stoop, his eyes on the flamingo as he did so. Someone had given it a woven hat that perched jauntily on its head. There was no time to investigate because the Avari sat slouched in a chair facing the entrance, his club laid across his lap. He could almost have been asleep except for the dark glint of eyes under heavy brows. Glorfindel stopped. The Avari sat silent and unmoving as a statue. 

“Evening. Is everything all right down here?” It was the best opening line he could come up with at short notice. The Avari was not one for small talk.

“Been quiet.” The Avari let that hang for a few moments then added, “Sending them on their way, those as don’t know the house be closed tonight.”

“Anyone giving you trouble?” Glorfindel indicated the club. “Or is that just for show?”

“Some like to argue. Not with this though.” He gave the club a satisfied heft. “There’s those that know this language. The rest got no urge to be learning it.”

“Fair enough,” Glorfindel agreed. He gestured towards the flamingo with his head. “Looks like there was a bit of a party before all this?”

“One of our Alfrinor’s callers. Drunk.” They both knew he was about to spit, but he refrained. Glorfindel assumed that was because he was officially inside the house and Erestor wouldn’t like it. 

“It’s good advertising,” he said. “Suggests it’s the right place to party.” Thel would have approved. Hells, Thel would have adopted the damn flamingo. He tried only to think of the good times when it came to his friend, but sometimes, like now, the sadness of that loss threatened to choke him.

“So. You be doing the village rounds and seeing all’s well, soldier?” the Avari asked, with what for him was extreme patience. He moved the club so the head was on his right knee, the grip by his left haunch. “Bit far out the way to be passing.”

“I told Erestor I’d stop by before I turned in to let him know if we’ve made any progress.” There had been no actual reason, now he thought of it, but that was good enough. “If it’s too late…?” 

The Avari sighed gustily. “He did say to watch for you, soldier. Not what to do should I see ye.”

Glorfindel leaned against the doorframe. “You could call him?” he suggested.

“I could,” the Avari agreed, not moving.

“Or I could go in and find him?”

“That you won’t.” The Avari’s voice was toneless. He hadn’t moved but there was a new, watchful air to his stillness.

“Oh for – look Medlin, it’s late, it’s been a long day. Could you tell him - please - that I’ve stopped by and won’t take more than a few minutes of his time.”

“Should I do that,” the Avari said with absolute logic, “then who would watch this door?”

“Were you looking for me, my lord?” Erestor stepped into view, cool and relaxed in fawn and mist blue, his hair braided and looped up at the base of his neck. He seemed unaware of the standoff at his front door, but Glorfindel saw him discreetly kick the Avari’s ankle in passing. The Avari gave a low rumble that was either a growl or a chuckle.

“Just came past as I said I would,” Glorfindel replied straightening up. He had the strangest feeling, as though the sun had come out. No, not the sun. Erestor was more like moonrise: shadowy, mysterious, hinting at potential danger.

“I was about to take a walk around the house to make sure everything was as it should be. Would you like to come with me? Then Medlin won’t be inconvenienced.” The smile was serene as Ithil, but impish humour glinted behind it.

“Tis time to close up for the night,” the Avari agreed. “You do rounds and then we be locking it down.”

“Excellent idea,” Erestor said and was suddenly present and solid and perfectly normal. He gestured for Glorfindel to precede him. “We shan’t be long. After you, my lord.”

Checking the outside, Glorfindel learned, involved walking round the house, making sure windows were closed and no one was hovering in the shrubbery. There was a dog, but she paid Glorfindel no heed, falling in step beside Erestor when they rounded the house to the deeper shadow at the back.

“Is that the one with the pups?” he asked, recalling an earlier conversation.

Erestor shook his head. “No, they have a space in the kitchen where it’s warm. This girl has been standing guard alone since then. I bring her inside at night though, it gets damp and cold down here. Never gave that much thought when we bought near the river. Just that it was pretty.”

“It is pretty down here,” Glorfindel agreed. “And private, which I suppose was part of the attraction?”

Erestor grinned. “I didn’t have it in mind to annoy my neighbours, that just happened of its own. It was the right size and fairly central while still being away from the side of the village they would develop first. There’s nowhere much to go from here, just into the forest or onto the river bank, which no right minded person would do after seeing it in midwinter. Mainly I wanted somewhere that could stand a little noise and people coming and going.”

“Instead you got neighbours who lay complaints with the authorities,” he said, smiling.

“Oh, are we still about to be sent packing down to the end of the valley?” Erestor pouted. “I really have to start attracting more builders and carpenters; we might need a few favours. Perhaps discounted rates…”

“I’m never sure when to take you seriously, but I’m guessing not this time?”

Shadowy eyes studied him. “It’s business, my lord. And where business is concerned…”

“… you always take it seriously, yes. I remember.” They laughed and Erestor, distracted, almost tripped over a heap of bricks left from someone’s attempts to extend a planter under one of the windows. Glorfindel caught his arm and it was somehow natural after that to continue along arm in arm.

“I know you haven’t found Megildur,” Erestor said after a bit. “You would have said as much earlier. But do you have a better idea where to look now?”

“None,” Glorfindel admitted. “He seems to be quite the loner. Our best bet is hearing what Denesion has to say once he comes round.”

“He’ll be all right? I didn’t like to ask in front of Alassëa.” 

“And I didn’t like to say. If he makes it through the night his chances will be much stronger, so Elrond told me. I looked in earlier – still unconscious but his breathing seemed steady.”

Erestor nodded absently. “Blood loss is an unpredictable thing, though with luck he’ll be sitting up demanding dinner tomorrow night. You sent someone to stay with them at the house, did you? When she saw Raina home, the lieutenant said it would be arranged.”

“Elen saw to that herself, yes,” Glorfindel said. “She and Raina seem to have struck up a friendship. I doubt he’d know about her family, plus there’s safety in numbers and in knowing your neighbours, but I’m not taking chances. One of my men is spending the night in the front room. He’s one of the military veterans so I’d not worry too much there.”

They turned the corner and went up onto the stoop, coming to a halt next to the flamingo. Glorfindel adjusted the hat a little, smiling to himself. Erestor, who had let go of his arm, caught the look. “It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? But it does rather sum up the house on a good night so I thought we’d let it stay. Medlin thinks I’ve lost my mind, of course. Not for the first time.”

“You’ve known each other quite a while, haven’t you?” Glorfindel was used to Elrond’s casual avoidance of answering questions about Erestor and was hardly surprised when Erestor said, “Oh, yes, we have a long history, a bit too long to share standing out here. Were you coming in? I said something about kaffee or wine, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Glorfindel agreed. “But if it’s too late, that’s all right. We could make it another night?”

“Another night’s likely to be a work night for both of us,” Erestor pointed out. “If you’d like to get home, that’s fine, but I’ll be up reading a while before I finally go to bed. Far too early for me.”

Glorfindel felt a bit stupid but tried to laugh it off. “I wasn’t thinking. You’re used to late hours, yes. And there I was trying to be considerate. Thank you, perhaps a glass of wine? I know everyone loves kaffee, but I’m finding it a bit of an acquired taste.”

Erestor made a graceful, one-handed ‘of course’ gesture. “It’s very fashionable right now. That’s why most people aren’t normally as honest in their dislike. Come, let’s go in.”

The Avari grunted as they came in the door and got to his feet, declining Erestor’s offer of kaffee. “Douse the lights and check the doors, then it be good dwarf fire and an early night for me. I’ll leave this here key on the hook for you, for later.” He pointedly looked past Glorfindel while he spoke, and Glorfindel felt uncomfortable without quite understanding why.

Erestor gave the Avari a bland look and wished him good night, then took one of the lamps from the shelf facing the door and led the way to the gaming room Glorfindel had passed on his first visit. Inside, he went briskly past tables and chairs to the far end of the room, to a long counter with two shelves behind it holding bottles and jars. The lamp cast eerie shadows that swooped and leapt about the room, gigantic, looming shapes that bore no reference to the reality of the furnishings. Behind the counter he selected a wine jug and brought out two glasses – real glasses with swirls of yellow and red and green, the rims and stems banded in silver. 

“The good glassware,” he said with a glint of teeth. The little flame flickered between them, the light catching the sheen of his hair and the shimmer of his eyes. “If you’ll bring the lamp…?”

He brushed past, and there was that faint scent of cinnamon and musk roses again. Glorfindel breathed him in and almost forgot to follow. 

Instead of going down to the sitting room where he had received Glorfindel before, Erestor led him back the way they’d come and then turned right and right again, bringing them to the foot of a staircase. He went up smooth and silent and Glorfindel followed, trying not to sound like a stray bear. Just beyond the head of the stairs was an open space with chairs and a window that looked out onto the street and then a long corridor with doors leading off from both sides. A lamp burned half way down. The air hung still, carrying traces of incense and other scents like rose geranium and lavender. He heard muted voices from behind some of the doors as they passed, but with the house closed for business he supposed everyone was making the most of a rare early night. 

They went down to the end of the house where windows looked out onto the trees and a window seat laden with cushions was a preferred reading spot if the books stacked nearby were anything to judge by. A short passage led off to the right, with only one door. Balancing wine and glasses, Erestor wrestled it open and went in. Glorfindel hesitated a moment and then followed.

He had no idea what he expected, but surely not the cosy chamber he found himself in. A lamp burned on a writing desk beneath the window, a chair stacked with cushions was drawn up beside an unlit fireplace, there was a well-stocked bookcase, a vase of yellow roses, and a bed against the far wall, laden with furs and knitted throws. A pair of sash windows faced the back yard. Then he recalled the downstairs sitting room and saw the same hand, the same touches – the collection of dried reeds and berries, the basket of shells: Erestor’s kind of space.

Erestor took the lamp from him, placing it alongside the wine and glasses on a chest by the door that looked like it might be the usual repository for gloves and keys and such. "It’s a little basic, but that’s because no one else comes in here," he said. "This is my private space."

"I'm here," Glorfindel pointed out unnecessarily. The words seemed to catch in his throat, coming out hoarse. Time slowed, the world narrowed to lamplight and the scent of roses and spice. He felt Erestor’s low laugh like a touch. 

"Why, fancy that. So you are."

The next few minutes were a confusion of fire and ice and a shape that fitted his arms as no other had before. Later he could only call back disconnected images: a supple body almost melting into his, clothes with too many fastenings, a mouth that tasted faintly of brandy, breathless snatches of talk. Then they reached the bed and fell onto it together. He pinned Erestor down, kissing him, devouring him, his hands finding newly exposed skin that was smooth and warm and pliable, while Erestor writhed against him, hands tangled in his hair, clawing at his back. 

Erestor slid out from beneath him, tunic gone, shirt half fastened. His eyes were wide and almost black, his parted lips kiss-swollen. He finished undressing with quick, jerky movements then knelt there letting his hair down, combing his fingers through the braid to loosen it. They kept eye contact but neither spoke. To Glorfindel the air between them held the taut energy that precedes a thunderstorm. He ached to touch that pale skin, but when he tried to sit up Erestor shoved him back down and went on with what he was doing. Then he leaned over, his hair tumbling around them both, and got to work on the fastenings of Glorfindel’s shirt. 

“I never thought…” Glorfindel started, trying to find words to explain sensations that had no words.

“Thinking gets in the way,” Erestor told him, husky and breathless. He finished with the shirt and slid it open and back over Glorfindel’s shoulders, fingers sliding over his chest, leaving a trail of fire in their wake that had him shivering with lust. “We can think tomorrow. Tonight – we do.”

\-----o

They drank the wine eventually, after they had explored and touched and tasted one another, after Erestor had driven him to the brink of violence, teasing and withdrawing, his mouth and hands and hair a torment that made Glorfindel want to kiss him so deeply, hold him so closely, that there would be no more space between them. And in the end Erestor relented, twisting over onto his hands and knees, black hair and pale skin and hazy amber eyes inviting him to enter, become as close as it was possible for two human beings to be. And in blood-pounding, breathless heat, Glorfindel rode him to a climax that seemed almost to suck his soul from his body, so powerful was his release.

Erestor got up after a while to fetch the wine, put out the lamp and light the candles by the bed. They leaned together under soft cotton sheets – also from Harad, he said - and shared the wine and kisses and the kind of silliness that comes with the slaking of pent up desire. And after that they loved again, this time with Erestor kneeling astride him, moving slowly, dreamily, while Glorfindel’s hand drew him to the edge and held him there so that their release was almost simultaneous. 

There was no talk of Glorfindel leaving to sleep in his own bed. Erestor nipped the candle flame and they crawled exhausted under the covers. The last thing Glorfindel did was rest his hand on Erestor’s back, hair and skin warm under his palm. Erestor gave a contented murmur, and they slept.

\-----o

With no way to measure time, it could have been minutes later but was more likely hours when Glorfindel slowly surfaced from a dreamless sleep into the dimness of an unfamiliar room. Soft breathing beside him brought the night back into shape – Erestor’s house, Erestor’s bedroom. The thought brought with it a sleepy smile and a vague tug of desire. It was still dark outside, the window’s rectangle only a little lighter than the room itself. He moved closer to the warmth beside him, pulled the pillow more firmly under his head and was drifting back to sleep when he smelt it.

Bolt upright now and pushing his hair out of his face, he shook Erestor’s shoulder. “Erestor? Wake up. I can smell smoke!”


	11. Chapter 11

“I don’t know what was in his head,” Erestor muttered, threatening the glowing coals in the kitchen hearth with another jug of water. “Even when we’re working, the kitchen fire doesn’t burn all night. I don’t have the money for that amount of fuel.”

“I’m sorry I woke you for this,” Glorfindel said, embarrassed. “I could smell smoke and never stopped to think there could be an innocent reason.”

“Not all that innocent,” Erestor said, going to place the jug on the table. “I know what happened here. Medlin left the fire for the dogs, thinking it’d burn out in time, and then something caught and flared and set the whole thing going again. And if I ask him he’ll deny any such sentimentality.”

“I’m sure they were enjoying the warmth,” Glorfindel said with an amused look over to the corner where the mother watched them from an improvised box. He had tried to get a look at the pups but had been growled at; she was a big dog and it seemed wise to respect her space. 

Erestor picked up the jug again and went to add the contents to the water bowl near the box. “It’s perfectly comfortable in here, this room is never cold. Even in the middle of the night – do you have any idea of the time?”

Glorfindel shook his head. “It feels like the third watch, but I haven’t looked outside.”

“I’m fine with going to bed at this time, not getting up.” Erestor joined him, resting his forehead against Glorfindel’s shoulder briefly. Glorfindel put an arm around him and then paused, not quite sure what was expected of him. Or permitted. He still needed to put the night into some kind of perspective: there had been no time to analyse things while they crept downstairs, discovered the source of the smoke he had smelled when he woke, and banked down the fire.

Erestor laughed softly. “Oh, look at us. It’s the morning after and we have no idea what to do with our hands.”

“Very early morning…”

“Yes, well that makes it worse. Half awake and all that.” He turned, Glorfindel’s arm still around him, and smiled up at him. The kitchen was only lit by a single lamp, but there was still enough light to see the mischief in his eyes. “I suppose we’ll just have to feel our way back into it?”

Glorfindel ran light fingers over hair with the texture of good silk. “I had no idea where I was when I woke up, but then it came back and – it felt good?”

“It felt good yes, finding you there,” Erestor agreed. 

They stood quiet for a few minutes while the fire settled and the dogs snuffled and ignored them. A couple of the pups were making sleepy squeaking noises and there was a general shifting around in the box.

“I suppose I should go home,” Glorfindel finally said, with regret. “I have an early start ahead of me and if I go back to sleep here, I won’t wake up before sunrise.”

“And you’d rather not have this lot find you here for breakfast, am I right?” Erestor asked, but his voice was amused and he was leaning against Glorfindel, easy and relaxed. 

“I’d …” Glorfindel was not quite sure how to put what he was feeling into words, but when Erestor said nothing, waiting, he stumbled on. “I’ve always been very private. Usually out of necessity, but it’s part of who I am. Not secretive, just… I’d rather people didn’t get to speculate on some aspect of my life I’ve not had time to think through myself. If that makes sense?” He stopped, out of words, and because he was aware that Erestor’s shoulders were shaking.

“Oh dear, no, I’m sure you don’t want to be the topic of choice over breakfast.” Erestor reached up, laughing, to touch his cheek. “Neither do I, I assure you. Medlin will be quite enough, thank you. So no, I won’t be offended if you want to leave before dawn. Quite the contrary. Asking you to go would have felt very awkward.”

“Oh, you’d have managed,” Glorfindel said, relieved and grinning. “You’re very good when you need to get a point across.”

They went back upstairs, and this time Glorfindel tried twice as hard to be quiet. Erestor’s room was warm and welcoming: candles burning, clothes scattered, the bed in disarray. Erestor wrinkled his nose. “Well, that’s a mess,” he said closing the door and stepping into Glorfindel’s arms. “I have no idea how we’ll find the rest of your clothes.”

They kissed for a while, first standing near the door and then sitting on the bed, until Glorfindel knew he was at the point where he could either leave or stay much later. “I think…” he began.

Erestor drew back from him. “Yes, it is rather now or never isn’t it?” he said, running his fingers through his hair. “Come, I’ll help. Your belt’s over there on the floor.”

Glorfindel, who had gone down wearing only tunic and pants, got dressed, somehow keeping his hands off Erestor while he did so. Erestor sat on the bed watching him, head tilted a little, something like curiosity on his face. He got up when Glorfindel was finished, shook out the folds of his cloak for him and nodded. “You look quite respectable, not at all like someone who just spent the best part of the night in a brothel.”

“You have a nice way with words,” Glorfindel said, shaking his head. “I have no idea what that looks like even.” 

“Tired, rumpled, but well satisfied?” Erestor suggested, giving his cloak a final twitch. “You’ll need to walk very quietly back down. The later it gets, the more likely one of them will wake up to use the privy. Though the Mighty know, it’s cold enough that it’s worth keeping it in till daylight.”

They went downstairs, Glorfindel trying unsuccessfully to tiptoe in boots, Erestor moving soundless as a wraith on sock-clad feet. The key was where the Avari had said he would leave it, on the hook. Erestor took it down and opened the door. The night air slid in, icy fingers reaching from the river. They stood in the doorway, looking out. There were no lights, nothing moved, and the sky was cloudy with patches of stars. Glorfindel always thought it looked even further away than usual from the depths of the ravine, but it was probably a mind trick He hesitated, not sure how to ask, but Erestor dealt with that too, as he had so much else that night.

“I’ll see you later today. I have every reason to come up and ask after Denesion’s health and the progress in the search.”

“I’ll be there,” Glorfindel told him. “If you can make it around lunch time, it wouldn’t be strange to go for something to eat together, would it?”

“What, at the House? Elrond would have a fit,” Erestor said happily. “What an excellent idea. I will see you at noon then.”

“You’re a really bad person, aren’t you?” Glorfindel asked, grinning, a palm cupping Erestor’s cheek.

Erestor pouted. “It’s been said, yes.” He reached up and kissed Glorfindel’s cheek, almost chastely. “I think maybe you like that about me. Go. Take care. I’ll see you later today. Don’t think. It’s not time yet. Just --- let it happen as it happens. “

“I’m not good at that,” Glorfindel admitted.

Erestor nodded. “I know,” he said. “But give it time, you’ll learn.”

\-----o

He had seldom been out in Imladris this late at night. It was very quiet, even the Patrol would be reduced to just the two members manning the office. The Hall of Fire had the usual lantern burning outside but not a sound came from within. His footsteps echoed on the beaten earth paths and he found himself trying to move quietly even though there was no one around. There were some lights at doorways, otherwise the village was dark, and the path to the House even more so.

He wondered if he could suggest some form of street lighting to Elrond without explaining how late he had been out.

He took one of the side entrances into the House because there was always someone on duty at the main entrance in case there was a problem that might need attention from Elrond or some other senior person. When he let himself in, his rooms felt as though he had not been there for a long time. It was almost strange to see his possessions where he had left them earlier. He sat on the bed for a minute before getting undressed and tried to understand how his life could have changed so utterly in one night. Then he remembered Erestor telling him not to think and shook his head, smiling ruefully. Shrugging out of most of his clothes, he pulled the covers around him and fell asleep almost as soon as his head had settled on the pillow.

He woke to hammering on the door. Groggy and half blind with sleep he staggered up, found his cloak on the chair where he had dropped it when he came in, wrapped it round him and went to see what was wrong this time. 

Beridhren stood in the doorway, his fist raised to knock again. He stepped back when Glorfindel opened the door and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry sir, I know it’s early – just into the fourth watch - but I thought you’d want to know right away. Seems Megildur might not be finished with us. The Pink Flamingo’s on fire.”

\-----o

This time they took horses, Glorfindel declaring he had done enough walking for one night. They could smell the smoke long before they reached the street above the river. The scene when they arrived was chaotic, with rushing and shouting and a confused attempt to get a proper bucket chain going in the dark. 

“I thought the neighbours would be more likely to stand around and applaud,” Beridhren said as they dismounted and fastened the horses to the rail – expecting them to stay put out of courtesy was asking too much under these conditions.

Glorfindel looked about. “I think they’ve worked out that if the Flamingo goes, their homes are likely to be next. Self-interest makes strange bedfellows.”

Beridhren grinned. “Bedfellows. That’s funny. Very good, sir.”

Glorfindel cleared his throat, busied himself with making sure the horse was properly fastened. “I suppose. Right, let’s have a look around, see what we can do here.”

They strode towards the house, avoiding people with buckets of water and concerned neighbours still in their nightclothes. “Entrance is on fire from the looks of it, sir,” Beridhren said, pointing. “That’s a bit of a mess. Nothing to stop it from going right through the house from there.”

“You’ve been there a few times before then?” Glorfindel asked before he could stop himself. He was the last person to joke about that, he supposed.

Beridhren avoided a puddle where someone had dumped the contents of a bucket, probably an inadequate attempt to damp the ground. “Just to give noise warnings, sir. Just warnings.” 

When they got closer he could see a group of girls who he assumed were from the house huddled together, trying to keep out the way, but from inside he could hear the Avari shouting direction – loudly – and less clear female responses. He searched the crowd but Erestor was nowhere to be seen and there was no time to try and find him. He assumed that if he was in trouble, it would be the Avari’s first concern, even ahead of keeping the flames from reaching the stairs. 

Telling Beridhren to get the bucket chain properly organised and to deploy the handful of Patrol members who had just arrived on the scene, Glorfindel went round to the back of the house, following the same route he had with Erestor mere hours ago. This time both dogs were outside, near the shed where he guessed the puppies had been put for safety; he could hear yelping. They barked when they saw him, and the girl sitting with them hushed them, embarrassed. There were a couple of lanterns outside, shedding enough light for him to make out a pile of dresses that looked like they might have been flung from an upper window – the one at the end of the passage near Erestor’s room, he thought. The air was thick with smoke, and now he was closer he could hear the indistinct but unmistakeable rustle of flames.

There was a lot of activity by the well outside the kitchen door, a free for all with buckets and pots being filled and carried back into the house under – who but? – Raina’s supervision. He hurried past and had to grin, hearing her yell at someone, “What is wrong with you? How much good will that little jug do? Get back in there and find an honest pot, Danae.” She never noticed him, which was good because she would likely have wanted to tell him where to go and what to do. He hoped Beridhren was being at least as effective outside. Smoke billowed around him and everyone was coughing, though there was no panic. No one paid any attention to him, he was just one more anonymous person trying to save the house.

The Avari was near the stairs, beating out embers and directing two of the boys to keep wetting the floor. He growled when he saw Glorfindel but went on attacking burning coals with what might once have been a tapestry. 

“Where do you need me?” Glorfindel asked, not wasting time on pleasantries. The air was thick and hot and his eyes were already smarting badly.

“Need to stop that fire spreading out this way. It jumps the stairs and this house be done for.”

Glorfindel thought the roof beams would be trouble enough but didn’t say so. “Erestor all right?” he asked, lacking a more roundabout approach.

The Avari shrugged. “That one’s out there trying to save what he can. Told him it be a waste of his time, but there’s no reasoning with some when their mind’s set.”

This sounded like a fair description of what he knew of Erestor. Glorfindel shrugged too, looked around. “I need a wet sack or something,” he said, half to himself. 

The Avari heard him, even above the crackle of flames, the rush of feet, the coughing and voices raised in warning or shouting for more water. He stamped further down the hallway and came back with a heavy rug. “Get some water on that,” he said, throwing it at Glorfindel’s feet. “It’ll do. Won’t be finding no homespun or sacking in this house. They’s more the type for silk.”

Glorfindel got water from one of the boys and ducked between determined young bucket-wielders, looking for where he could be the most use. The entrance was beyond anything a wet rug could achieve and was a water focus from both outside and within. The flames were trying to reach the gaming room, and he directed his efforts there instead, in the passageway that connected the kitchen and the well beyond to the rest of the house. 

\-----o

The fire spread despite their best efforts, but while there was still a chance they kept fighting. Erestor, who he had heard rather than seen, finally began chasing his people out of the house with a combination of threats and curses. Even Raina could see staying wasn’t worth the risk and for once forbore to argue, raising her voice instead to hurry everyone along as flames leapt from doorframe to rafters to window frame. Glorfindel joined in the general retreat without getting a chance to even catch Erestor’s eye. 

He was outside, about to take over on one of the remaining bucket chains, when Suiadan, one of his men, appeared out of the confusion and noise and tapped him on the shoulder.

“His lordship wants to see you right away, sir,” he shouted. “Said to leave off whatever you’re doing and get up to the House now.”

Embers sparked at Glorfindel, stinging his face like needles. The water hissed and spat and made no impact on the fire. “Whatever that is, he can sort it out himself,” he snapped, breathing hard. “Tell his lordship that if he wants to see me, he can get off his backside and come down here and help. We’ve got wooden houses in this street, trees… Don’t stand there gawping. Go tell him I’m busy and then get someone to find you a bucket and help, damn it.”

Suiadan gave him a startled look but nodded, stepping back and out of Glorfindel’s line of sight. Someone shoved another bucket into his hands, and everything else was forgotten.

There were no slides back into memory this time, neither of Gondolin burning nor of the Balrog; there wasn’t time for anything but the here and now. At one point he saw Erestor through the smoke, backlit by flames, with a metal box topped by a pile of books in his arms. Their eyes met for a moment, then Erestor shook his head as though in denial of the whole situation and kept going. Glorfindel went back to a losing battle at his station at the front of a bucket chain that brought too little water too slowly.

By the time the sky began to hint at dawn, the heat had driven them back from the house. The main task now was to keep the fire from spreading to the neighbouring homes. Glorfindel had a couple of the girls damping down the front yard of the home diagonally opposite, making every drop count, and was on his way back to the hopeless effort around the Pink Flamingo after checking on the evacuation efforts next door. The flames had reached the upper floor now. He thought of Erestor’s room, comfortable, a refuge, a place of future dreams, and was startled by the wave of anger he had to fight off. 

The crowd had grown. There were more spectators than he’d have expected this early in the day, but then again it _was_ the Pink Flamingo. He also spotted a well drilled group of warriors who were busy subduing flames with sand. He recognised none of their faces, but the smoke was heavy and the air hot and it was hard to see. As he squinted against the smoke, the Avari came jogging past, his face grim and focused. He was carrying his club slung back over his shoulder. 

“What’s going on?” Glorfindel shouted above the noise. When the Avari didn’t reply he thought about it a moment and then followed. Now that he was looking in the right direction, he could see someone ahead of them moving fast through the smoke. There was something odd about the runner’s gait, uneven and stumbling despite his speed. Just as he realised who this must be, a second figure, almost as tall as the Avari, passed him at a diagonal, long legs gaining on the runner. The Avari gave a howl of rage as he was effectively cut off and, raised his club. “Two of you in this are there, you Hunter’s Spawn? Wait up there!”

Not many would be willing to take on the Avari, so he was unprepared to have the Hunter’s Spawn swing round and block his arm with smooth ease. The club flew out of his hand and skidded across the ground, tripping Glorfindel who had tried to duck round them, his eyes on the runner. Blindly pulling himself up, he ran straight into someone’s back and had to fling himself clear of a solid punch being thrown by the Avari’s opponent. He heard it make contact and the Avari grunt. 

As Glorfindel tried to orient himself, the smoke lifted and he saw two things clearly. One was Megildur, recognisable even with the hood of his cloak drawn up, heading into the trees. The other was the identity of the man trading punches with the Avari. Glorfindel opened his mouth to yell, got a lungful of smoke and started to cough again, spluttering on the words. And then Erestor, whom he had not seen for some time, flew past him and flung himself on the Avari yelling, “No, no, no, Medlin, for Ossë’s sake, no. It's the king!” 

The Avari, to give him his due, responded instantly, jumping back and almost trampling Erestor as he did so. Erestor shoved him, then pushed past and advanced. “What in Pattini’s seven hells…?”

Ereinion Gil-galad glared at the Avari then looked around sharply, but Megildur had taken advantage of the chaos to make his getaway. “Saw someone trying to skulk off. Those are always the ones you hold onto and get someone to identify. He’s gone now, thanks to your friend here.”

Erestor put his hands on his hips and glared at him. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

The High King of the Noldor did not seem in the least put out by this response. Instead he grinned and waved the wet sack he was holding. “Oh, you’re welcome. Saw the fire on the way in so we came down to help? That’s a good question though - what the fuck are _you_ doing here? I heard someone call this a brothel?”

“This is my house, damnit,” Erestor snapped, twisting a loose lock of hair up into the improvised bun he was now sporting. “My home!”

Gil-galad stared at him and then burst out laughing. “Fuck me, you're running a brothel?”

“…he didn't tell you? What is the matter with him?”

“Not a word,” the king said, flicking the sack to clear the smoke swirling around them. “Must have known I’d send someone to haul your sorry arse home by the ears.”

Erestor took a step back and gave him a measured look. “You have such a person? Really?”

“You don't scare me, night crow. Might have come myself, just for the look on your face.”

Glorfindel finally managed to tear his eyes away from this improbable tableau and looked towards the trees where Megildur had vanished, wondering tiredly if it was worth the effort to go after him. When he looked back he found the Avari staring at him. Their eyes met and for the first time they shared a look of complete accord. 

“House,” the Avari said succinctly.

Glorfindel nodded. “We need to try more sand – that lot down the side were getting results. I’ll get onto that. You send a couple of the girls to make sure the dogs are safe, then see if we can keep at least one bucket chain going. Not much else we can salvage at this point though.”

“See when it be burned out,” the Avari agreed. He gestured with a thumb to where Erestor and the High King were trying to stare each other down. “Leave them be. They’ll get back to it in their own good time. That’s family for you.” This time he really did spit before he walked off.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life happened, but we're back.

Glorfindel stood in the middle of the street trying to keep out of the way while he took stock of the situation. The house was still burning but there seemed less danger now of the flames spreading. The warriors Glorfindel had not recognised earlier – part of the king’s escort he now assumed - had taken over and improved the bucket chain, going on to establish a system for attacking the fire. The residents of the Pink Flamingo were huddled in a shocked and for once silent group across the road watching their home burn. Off to one side Erestor and Gil-galad were still talking, and through the smoke he could make out the Avari smashing the window to a room at the end of the house as yet untouched by the fire. 

There was nothing here that specifically needed his presence, there were more than enough willing hands in action and he still had to find out what Elrond wanted, though he now supposed it had to do with Gil-galad’s early arrival. And there was the matter of escalating the search for Megildur before anyone else was hurt. He spared a final glance for Erestor and the king, but they were still busy: Gil-galad had his arms folded across his chest and was frowning while Erestor stood, hands on hips, glaring back at him. Interruptions of the ‘I’ll see you later’ variety were not likely to be welcomed.

On his way to find Elrond, he stopped off briefly at the Patrol’s offices. There was almost an hour left of the early morning shift, a time when hardly anything ever happened so there were just two on duty, one to man the desk and another to follow up problems or run messages. They were at that stage where their main job was to stay awake till relief arrived and were happy to see him: a dirty, sweaty, soot-streaked distraction was just the thing to break the monotony, especially when it was the commander himself. 

“Suiadan said you were down by the fire, sir,” Bercalion said, going unasked to the stove in the corner where a pot of tea was always kept warm and pouring him a cup. “Is it as bad as it looks? We could just about get a look from the front steps – took it in turns, of course.”

Glorfindel accepted the tea, grateful that kaffee, due to the expense, had not yet found its way to the Patrol. He gulped a mouthful and burnt his tongue, but it had the effect of waking him up so it was all to the good. He shook his head. “It could be worse, at least we kept it from spreading. Just the Pink Flamingo. No chance of saving that.” _Just_ the Pink Flamingo, he thought, picturing Erestor, grim and begrimed, trying to salvage what he could of a life – followed by the unlikely image of him shouting at the High King.

He pulled his attention back as Bercalion clucked sympathy. “Damn shame that, sir, it’s a nice house. Still, as long as the whole street didn’t go up. You never expect trouble like that so close to the river somehow.”

“There’s some in that street who’ll be glad to see that place gone,” Tiriel said from behind the desk. She had been winding her hair up onto the crown of her head when he came in and had hurriedly fixed it in place with a pencil. “No idea what they’ll find to complain about now. It’ll take some of the spice out of their lives. No one was hurt, were they sir?”

“No one was hurt,” Glorfindel said. “Though I don’t think they managed to save much. I saw a pile of clothes on the back lawn, otherwise – no idea.” Tiriel was right about the neighbours, he thought. Some people’s lives weren’t complete unless they had something to find fault with. He finished his tea in a few swallows and put the cup down. “I don’t suppose Lord Elrond’s gone back to sleep, I’d better go see if he got my message.”

“Suiadan said he’d dress it up pretty, sir,” Bercalion assured him. “He said you were too busy to be properly diplomatic. Lieutenant Elen said that was fair enough and to say it the way you would if you were face to face with his lordship.”

Glorfindel smiled wryly. “That sounds like Elen, yes. What was she doing here anyhow? She’s not due back till after breakfast.”

They both shook their heads. “She came to look at the map, sir. Said she wanted to check something. She didn’t look like she wanted questions, so we didn’t ask.”

“Probably a good idea,” Glorfindel agreed, ineffectually brushing down his tunic. What he could see looked beyond salvaging and he supposed he would have to throw it out after this. “Well, no good putting it off. Time to find out how well Suiadan understands my diplomatic style.”

\-----o

Elrond was coming down the main steps as Glorfindel reached the House. He was soberly dressed in neutral grey as though ready for a council meeting, his hair braided back tightly. He looked annoyed, but then in Glorfindel’s experience, Authority never much liked being got out of bed when it was still dark. 

“If I wished you to be employed as a firefighter, I would have told you so,” he snapped, forgoing the niceties of small talk. “There are enough people getting altogether too much practice at putting out fires. And when I send someone to fetch you…”

“Have you ever been down that street?” Glorfindel asked in a level voice. It was just as well he was too tired right then to shout at anyone, least of all this descendent of several royal lines. “Wooden fences, a couple of houses built fully from logs, thatched roofs, a stand of trees – anyone awake and aware had to stay and help.”

Elrond made a grumpy noise and stood, hands clasped behind his back, breathing in the air. He looked towards the village where houses were starting to blossom with early morning lights and scowled. “Your man said it was Erestor’s place? How bad was the damage?”

“They won’t salvage much,” Glorfindel told him. “It went up like a torch. The neighbours were very lucky we contained it.”

“I still smell smoke and I can see an orange flicker down there.”

Glorfindel had another look. It was more like a glow than a flicker, rising and falling, the reflection of dying flames on smoke. “It was burning in on itself when I left and there are plenty of hands – everyone from the surrounding streets seems to have turned out, some of my men got out of bed and came down, and the king brought his guard or whoever they are along and they got involved too - they’ve been quite useful.”

“Oh the Void take it, he’s down there?” Elrond stopped peering into the pre-dawn dark and swung round to glare at him.

Glorfindel kept his face smooth and nodded. “Yes. We nearly had a situation - the Avari almost knocked him out. Erestor called him off just in time.”

Elrond stared. It was a look that said there were no possible words. Glorfindel smiled tiredly. “It’s probably sorted out by now. Megildur was there, he must have been hiding in the crowd. His Majesty saw him trying to skulk off, got suspicious and went after him. Medlin didn’t recognise him and thought he and Megildur were working together…”

“I missed this?” Elrond had stopped frowning and was listening, rapt as a child at the family hearth.

“Erestor grabbed Medlin from behind just before he could land a proper punch. I’ll give him this, he stopped at once.”

Elrond shook his head slowly. “I knew I should have gone down to take a look, but I was expecting Ereinion – I assumed he’d come right here once his men got sorted out up at the barracks. I should know never to assume with him. No one was hurt, right?”

“In the fire, or between Medlin and Ereinion?”

Elrond scowled. “Either. Both.”

Glorfindel grinned. “Not while I was there, no. The last I saw, Erestor and His Majesty were yelling at each other.”

“Yes, they do that,” Elrond agreed distractedly. “Gods, Medlin could have injured him. I’d never hear the last of it. Somehow it would have ended up my fault.”

“It was a reasonable mistake. There was a lot of confusion, it was dark, and for a moment it did look as though His Majesty was trying to cut Medlin off... He said they’re family? Him and Erestor?” He tried to sound casual about it and failed. 

Elrond gave him a wry look. “I have a hard-learned rule with Erestor. If he doesn’t feel an urge to share the details of his family connections, it’s not my job to keep people informed. What I will tell you is they’re quite fond of each other really, even if it seldom sounds that way.”

“In other words, you’ll leave it to Erestor to explain to me?” Glorfindel finished for him, eyes on the barely visible coil of smoke at the far end of the village.

“That would be the shape of it, yes,” Elrond said. “Twice bitten, thrice shy. “

“And that’s why you wouldn’t engage when I asked about him before? I could see you knew him better than you were letting on.”

“More correctly, you thought I was a former client,” Elrond said dryly. It was impossible to tell if he was amused. “I think that might have been more than my life was worth. Anyhow.” He turned decisively to go back into the House. “I was on my way up to see the royal party got settled appropriately, but as you’re finally here I’ll leave it to you. Don’t let them inconvenience any of our people too much. They’re early, they need to make do with what we choose to offer.”

\-----o

Glorfindel thought about getting changed, but knew if he sat down he might not get up again in a hurry. Instead he trudged off to the bridge and climbed up to the group of buildings half way between the river and the moorland above to make sure Gil-galad’s party had been properly accommodated. The entire garrison seemed to be awake. Their position halfway up the cliff offered a good view of the fire, and there was quite an audience. Many of the faces were unknown to Glorfindel; they were dressed for travel and presumably formed the main part of the high king’s escort. 

Inside the barracks was like walking into an ant’s nest. People were rushing around with armloads of bedding or utensils, and he could smell a very early breakfast being prepared. It was darker up against the cliff so the main hall, which doubled as a briefing area and dining room, was brightly lit with enough torches for a formal dinner, their light tinting everything to smoky gold. When he found Sidhiel, his second in command, she was not happy. “No one warned me,” she grumbled to him. “Not a single scout. I’ll geld the bunch of them. And the king was only meant to get here next week. Nothing’s in place and there’s more of them than we were told to expect. I’ve had to toss people out of their beds so it doesn’t look like we’re shoving the honour guard into odd corners.”

Glorfindel squinted at the activity, then put his fingers to his mouth and whistled. Heads swung round, eyes turned his way, and he beckoned them all closer, the expansive gesture of a great lord accustomed to being obeyed. There was a general slowing down until finally everyone had stopped what they were doing. Gil-galad’s men were still outside, which made what had to be done next a lot easier. There would be no need for careful choice of words.

“Morning all,” he said, loudly but without a need to shout. “Early start to the day, yes? Right. Everyone who was turned out of their digs, take your stuff right back there. Pass that on to anyone outside who’s not hearing this. I’m giving Sidhiel permission to go ahead and tuck the king’s guard in wherever she can fit them without any of us giving up our bed. This isn’t a damn guesthouse and I won’t have my people being inconvenienced. They’re soldiers. If they can’t take a little hardship, they shouldn’t be riding with the king.”

He assumed this was what Elrond intended, if not he would just look sheepish and claim to have misunderstood. It had worked well enough with Turgon.

Sidhiel looked grimly satisfied. “As his lordship says. Bring that bedding back and put a row of mats down the wall there – it’s sheltered and close to the fire. They’ll be snug as bears.”

Glorfindel grinned humourlessly. “That’s more like it. They can sort out their own pecking order for who sleeps where. A week from now there would have been tents and real beds for the officers. See that someone makes sure they know it.”

Sidhiel glanced towards the main door and lowered her voice. “They might have worked that out already, sir. There was a deal of muttering from this lot, some of it loud - I might have been too busy to call people to order. They just came down the secret way like they owned it and seemed to think we’d be glad to see them. There was high handed talk about breakfast and ablution facilities. As for Gil-galad, he stopped for a minute, greeted me, then took off down to look at the fire. Should I have sent someone with him, do you think?”

Glorfindel, watching the preparations going on at the far end of the hall, gave a huff of laughter. “I don’t think His Majesty needs an escort most times, except for courtesy. I wouldn’t worry – what I saw of him, he seemed to be enjoying his introduction to life in Imladris.”

He stayed until everyone had a place to sleep. There was nothing for him to do, but while he was there it meant Sidhiel could oversee things undisturbed and with less chance of complaints. One of Gil-galad’s senior officers did try and make the point that they were an elite force and accustomed to better than a blanket by the fire, but backed down in the face of Glorfindel’s flat blue stare. 

He finally went back over the bridge into a dawn that promised silver grey skies and a brisk wind coming up out of the west, the one that funnelled in through the valley and blew for days. It would not help with what remained of the fire. All he could see of that now was an overhang of dark smoke, but the risk of it flaring up again in the next few hours remained. Everyone involved in putting it out must be aware of that too, but he would take a walk down in the afternoon anyhow to make sure it was properly doused. 

After he’d had some sleep.

He was almost at the House when he saw Erestor. He was alone and walking with the slow post-battle pace that Glorfindel knew so well. He waited at the foot of the steps, ignoring the early morning activity going on above. Erestor reached him finally and stopped. He had changed at some point into a plain black robe a size too large for him and his hair was in a single braid slung over his shoulder. He looked pale, the pallor accentuated by dark lines under his eyes. 

“Everyone all right?” Glorfindel asked. Simple questions, that was what the situation called for.

Erestor nodded. “I didn’t lose anyone,” he said, which was an odd remark but Glorfindel let it pass. “Even the damn dogs are all right. Guard dogs they are not, you’d have noticed.”

“Not particularly, no. Though I’m sure everyone’s fond of them.”

“Damn house pets.” 

“There’s nothing wrong with house pets, Erestor,” he said gently. “This is Imladris. You shouldn’t need trained guards patrolling your grounds.”

“None of this should be happening here,” Erestor said quietly. “We even sat out a siege in this valley, nothing bad ever happens. Well, not really bad. I can’t speak for stock theft.”

“Where is everyone?” Glorfindel knew this level of tiredness where ideas went round and round and the conversation, such as it was, followed suit. “Don’t tell me the neighbours took them in.”

Erestor snorted, sounding a bit more like himself. “You’ll be surprised. A couple actually did offer places to sleep or to store things while we sorted ourselves out. The very same people who wanted us closed down. I suppose they can be magnanimous at this point. I farmed everyone else out around the village to friends and relatives and friends of relatives. Not clients. I’m not having any of them beholden to someone who’s paid for their time.”

The dark look and vehement tone told their own story. “Good. Were you coming to see Elrond, or...?”

“He’s offered me a room. And also anyone I couldn’t find place for, but we look after ourselves, I wasn’t having them up here and uncomfortable. Or looking for business, which might be worse. I was going to sleep on someone’s couch, but then I realised that was stupid – there’s just so far that pride takes you before it starts to look petty. Anyhow, Ereinion will be ridiculous about it if I don’t take the offer.”

“About that...”

Erestor swayed slightly and Glorfindel put a hand instinctively to steady him, cupping his elbow firmly. Erestor blinked hard as though trying to clear his vision and shook his head. “Glorfindel, I am damn tired. Later. Please? I’m not avoiding anything. Just – later.”

Glorfindel kicked himself mentally for letting curiosity get the better of his common sense. “I’m sorry. Of course. Come on, let’s find Elrond. I need sleep myself. I’ve just been mediating between my people and the king’s about sleeping space.”

Erestor let himself be guided up the steps. “They’re combat trained, fought on the Ered Luin and at the Gwathlo. They can sleep under the trees in a snowstorm, or so they’d have the girls in Mithlond believe. I wouldn’t fuss too much over them. Who’s in charge?”

“Uhh, someone called Castien, of all things? Do you know him?” 

Erestor pulled a face and shrugged. “Yes. He’s an asshole but fights like a Haradrim berserker so Rein likes him.”

Rein? Gods, they really must be related. 

“I know you wouldn’t be here if the fire wasn’t out. How’s the house? How much can you salvage?”

Erestor winced. “I’ll go assess things after I’ve slept. Maybe we can rebuild. I don’t know. There’s too much mess to be sure of anything right now. If we can’t, I don’t know what everyone will do.”

Glorfindel grimaced, it had been a stupid question but then he seemed to ask a lot of those when he was around Erestor. “Sorry, I’m not thinking. Of course you can’t tell yet.”

“You look like death.” Elrond appeared at the top of the stairs, holding a cup of kaffee. Glorfindel tried to remember when it was he had begun to look habitually annoyed – around the time the Pink Flamingo became an issue, he thought. “Do you need food? I can get something sent up.”

Glorfindel was about to reply when he realised this was not aimed at him. Erestor shook his head. “I don’t think I’d stay awake long enough to eat once I stop moving. But thank you. I was coming to find you – you offered me a bed? I’m sorry, I look like I’ve been dragged through a bush.”

“I’ve seen worse.” Elrond gestured for him to come inside, then noticed Glorfindel. “Go and get some sleep. You were up half the night, weren’t you?”

“Pretty much, my lord, yes.” Glorfindel assumed two hours’ sleep at most.

“Everything all right up at the garrison?” Elrond’s expression suggested he seriously doubted this. 

Glorfindel nodded tiredly. “It’s all under control. It didn’t need much from me, but anyhow – they have somewhere to sleep and were getting breakfast when I left.”

“Good,” Elrond said. “Because Ereinion will be up to take a look.”

“He’s still down the village,” Erestor told him. “Talking to the neighbours and taking a look around. As he does.”

Elrond pulled a face. “As he does, yes. All right. Glorfindel, go and sleep – and you might want to stop off at the baths first. If there’s a problem the king can take it up with me. Erestor – come with me. Before you fall over, to our mutual embarrassment.”

“Nothing embarrasses me,” Erestor said. “If I wasn’t so damn tired, I’d try it just to see what you do.”

“Don’t make me regret taking you in,” Elrond said, not unkindly. “If you can stay awake long enough, I’ll even have someone bring you water to wash in.”

They left before Glorfindel could say goodbye or arrange to meet Erestor later. He watched them pass through the early morning bustle of the hallway, ignoring the heads that turned and the eyes that slanted after them. Finally he shook himself and considered his options. All he wanted now was to close his eyes and sleep till lunchtime but Elrond was right, he needed a bath; he looked a mess and smelled like a mix of smoke, damp earth and sweat – in other words, like someone who had just spent several hours helping fight a fire. 

He took the covered path beside the house that passed one of the lesser-used doors that would take him to his rooms with rather more privacy than the main entrance offered. He could get a change of clothes and his towel and then take another shortcut to the baths. The path would take him past the infirmary - he realised with a start that it was hours since he last gave any thought to Denesion. After the baths he would make one last call before bed and find out if the smith had regained consciousness yet.

He was about to turn the corner that would take him past the open porch with its red tiles at the entrance to the infirmary when someone stepped out of the shadow of the bushes – some kind of rhododendron, he thought - that crowded alongside the path and caught at his arm. He was in the act of pulling away when he realised who it was.

“Shhh!” Urúvion hissed. “I was coming to look for you, sir – Lieutenant Elen’s orders. She said you had to be there when the time came. But we need to get away from here in case he comes this way. Don’t want to alert him and scare him off, sir. She’d be mad as a wet cat.” 

Glorfindel’s tired mind had to struggle to make sense of this. “He? Do you mean Megildur?” It had been a long night with very little sleep. 

Urúvion nodded. “Yes sir, him,” he said, still whispering. “If we can get out of sight and away from here, I can explain.”

Glorfindel gritted his teeth and somehow kept from sighing out loud. There would be no hot bath followed by half a day’s sleep any time soon. But if it meant tracking down Megildur, it would be worth the pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castien: tender


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No excuses.

Urúvion led Glorfindel away from the infirmary on a complicated route past the House and into the trees that grew thickly between it and the village. Glorfindel kept his breath for jogging, saving the questions for when they eventually stopped. They climbed over a low wall that was falling into disrepair and then followed a faint, overgrown trail for a while before branching off. Urúvion slowed down as they approached heavy undergrowth and took exaggerated care to move quietly. Finally he ducked down under some bushes and vanished from sight. When Glorfindel followed, he came out on the edge of a bank that overlooked a deep depression filled with brush and young trees. Unwarned, he almost stepped on Elen who had to scramble out of their way.

Beridhren, Suiadan and Alagos were crammed together against the trunk of an ancient fir and Urúvion crawled over to join them. Glorfindel opened his mouth to speak, but Elen made a shushing gesture. “Quiet, sir,” she said urgently. “I don’t think he can hear us, but he just might if the wind’s right.”

“He?” Glorfindel kept his voice low. “You mean Megildur? Where?”

She pointed. “Down there. In the quarry.”

If she had not told him it was once a quarry, Glorfindel would not have guessed. Now he could see a few depressions in the opposite bank that had appeared cave-like and the outlines of what might once have been huts or storage spaces. He looked back at her. “Why did I not know this was here?” he asked quietly.

“Sir, I’d forgotten about it myself. It was abandoned before I was born – too close to the river, my father told me, and unstable. We were forbidden to play here under any circumstances and, well, you know how children are, sir. But then one of my brother’s friends fell and broke his arm and that was the end of it, we could see the danger for ourselves.”

Glorfindel got settled beside her, knees drawn up in the confined space. “It’s near the village without being right on top of it…. All right, I see that logic, but still not why you thought to look here. You’re certain he’s down there?”

She pointed, careful to make sure he followed the sight line she created. “That second broken-down hut, sir. It was still dark when I first came here and there was a light, he either had a lantern or lit a fire. It was cold.”

Glorfindel pictured the steep trail he had just followed, with its tree roots and loose stones and frowned. “You could have broken your neck. And I’m still not clear why you thought of this place, and strongly enough to bring everyone else with you.” Not quite everyone, to be fair, but most of his fire team were present. 

Elen shook her head. “I don’t really know, sir. It just felt right. I was looking at the map before I left, trying to see what the sites had in common and then I thought, well he has to be somewhere, and maybe he has a place to keep, I don’t know, whatever he needs for making fires perhaps? And it would need to be in close to the village, but out of sight. I’d been puzzling over it for hours and then I remembered this place. I went back to check the map and I was almost sure, but not so sure that I’d wake someone and tell them.”

“So you came down here on your own to look around first? Isn’t that against standard procedure, Lieutenant?” Glorfindel asked it blandly, trying hard not to grin: Elen always followed procedure.

“I was only investigating, sir, no plans to confront him.’’ She looked embarrassed. “And when I saw the light I left right away. I would have gone back to the office, but I ran into young Belethiel – she’d been out looking at the fire, her father’ll skin her for it, too – so I sent her to wake Alagos who lives nearest, and get him to round up the others and tell them to meet me on the trail… I know it’s against the rules sir, but it seemed such a long shot, something no one had thought of.”

Glorfindel inched forward for a better look. The abandoned quarry was a shadowy place even now, well into morning. The clouds were no help, but he thought even in strong daylight it would be gloomy. “And you’re sure he hasn’t left?”

“No sir, there’s only one way up from there. I’d have seen him. The light was still burning when we got back, it only went out a while later. He’s still down there. I just thought we should wait for you.”

“We think he’s lying low and hoping we won’t look so hard in a day or two,” Beridhren added. “Don’t think anyone has a reason to come past here. The trail only leads to the quarry, doesn’t go anywhere else.”

“What do we do now, sir?” Urúvion asked softly, his attention split between Glorfindel, Elen and the overgrown quarry.

Glorfindel’s brain had that bright clarity that comes with lack of sleep. He was old enough to distrust it. “Elen? Can we get down there without alerting him?”

Elen was unsure. “I – think so, sir, but we’d have to go carefully. You can get down over there, that gap in the trees, but for the rest, we’d have to make our own paths, and I’m not sure it can be done quietly. It doesn’t look too bad from here, but the sides are cut steep under all that greenery.”

He considered this, finally nodding. “Do you think he could see us coming from where he is?”

“I don’t think so,” Beridhren said. “It looks very overgrown. If we keep low and quiet, we should be invisible.”

“All right then.” The longer he sat in this quiet space, lulled by the sound of singing birds and the river, the more chance he would simply fall asleep. Trying to picture Elen’s face made him smile and wake up properly. “Whoever has the best eyes will stay up here and keep watch, warn us if he tries to run for it. The rest, we’ll go down in single file, one man to stay at the lower end of the path in case he gets past us, and the four of us will take him. Any better suggestions, anything I’ve missed?”

“Suiadan has the best eyes,” Elen said at once. “He’s an archer. He should stay up here.”

“I’ll guard the way out,” Beridhren added. He was a noted wrestler and would have been Glorfindel’s choice anyhow, had he not spoken up.

“Good. The rest of you fan out and wait when we get down there,” Glorfindel said, moving aside so Elen could go first and lead the way. “See if I can talk him into coming quietly.”

“And if not, sir, we rush him?” she asked over her shoulder. Her hair was coming loose and he gestured for her to tidy the ponytail. He had come back with a deep-seated disquiet for flowing locks in a fight. 

“Exactly. And remember, he’s desperate. Be prepared for anything.”

\-----o

Elen led the way back up to the trail and along the rim of the quarry, moving quietly. For a time Glorfindel thought he could sense Megildur; an aura of uncertainty and fear and deep, roiling anger seemed to emanate from within the quarry, and then again it was gone. He was sure some of it was due to imagination, but the rest came from an awareness he’d always had for wrongness in a situation. He tried to make his own presence as innocuous as he could, being invisible to the world in a particularly elven manner. 

What remained of the pathway down to the quarry was a steep gradient with occasional half steps cut into the earth, and they had to go carefully. Even in the shadowy light under the trees, it was easy to read the signs that someone had passed this way recently. For an elf to leave such an obvious trail, he would need to have been in a great hurry. They reached the bottom of the descent without incident and Beridhren, at a wordless nod from Elen, took up station to the side, almost blending into the trunk of a young oak. 

At ground level the space looked very different, a confusion of thick brush and trees and discarded structures long since fallen to ruin. Glorfindel could see how it would appeal to children, the more so for it being out of bounds. They moved cautiously forward until Elen touched his arm and pointed to a creeper-grown wall. If he craned his neck he could just make out a window. The birds sang on, calm and unalarmed as they had during their descent – birds were not bothered by the presence of elves, nor were the trees. The things a fugitive might rely on to warn him held no sway here. Glorfindel pointed first to the window and then made the gesture to disperse. He took the moments while they spread out to centre himself, then dropped to the ground, breathing in moss and damp earth and the elderly scent of decades of leaf mould. Moving quickly but carefully he worked his way around to the front of the hut.

There was a door once, but it had long since gone back to dust. In its place hung an elderly leather curtain of the type used as doors on the dark elves’ earth and peat homes. Even as old and worn as it looked, it was much newer than anything in its surroundings. He could see from the ground before it that someone had passed through there recently, and more than once. Had he doubted Elen before, he would have no more questions. He listened but heard nothing, more to the point he felt nothing either; at any other time he would have sworn the hut was empty. Something else felt wrong - the birds had fallen silent. While they still had the initiative, before Megildur realized something was amiss, he rose smoothly to his feet and strode up to the doorway. Basic fairness to someone from his former home made him pause, hand on the curtain.

“Megildur?” he called into the hush. “It’s time. Come on, let’s go home.”

The abandoned quarry lay around him, quiet except for insect noises and a distant buzz of bees. The river went on its way somewhere beyond the trees in its race towards the next waterfall. He felt hemmed in, claustrophobic, all that green closing in from now-invisible walls. The quarry was an unwelcoming, brooding place despite being only a short walk from the village and Elrond’s House itself. Glorfindel, who had developed a dislike for confined spaces, told himself to stop being fanciful. He breathed in deeply and then jerked the leather aside. 

To begin with he thought the hut was indeed empty, but then he saw an alcove opened off to one side of the main room, possibly for storage in some past time when this was still an active project, or perhaps a place to rest between work shifts. He waved an arm to call in the rest of the Patrol and then crossed the threshold.

He was aware of Alagos and Elen coming up behind him at a run and could hear Urúvion further off: he made more noise than the other two put together. Glorfindel took a long look and then stepped back into the main room as they reached the doorway. “It’s all right,” he said. “He isn’t going anywhere anymore.”

The alcove held a makeshift bed with two blankets and an old goatskin, all now soaked in blood. The knife was sharp, as befitted one from a smith’s household: Megildur had managed to slice cleanly into his jugular, deep enough to open it properly before he fell back. Glorfindel had no need to touch him to know he was dead, he had seen enough new corpses in his time. He checked anyhow, pretending he couldn’t hear someone retching in the background. Whichever one of them it was, he knew it wouldn’t be Elen. Pride would have choked her first. For his sake, he hoped it wasn’t Urúvion.

\-----o 

The rest of the morning was a predictable mess. They had to send for a stretcher to take Megildur’s body up to the House, or more correctly to the infirmary, and his hiding place had to be searched and Elrond, of course, notified. Glorfindel decided against the return trip to the House and sent Beridhren off to see to that while he looked around. His people were young enough that the heavy fighting during the War with Sauron had not directly involved them. Their unease at finding a dead elf was palpable and he knew it was best for him to stay with them.

He assumed Megildur chose that specific hut because it was the only shelter down there still offering protection from the rain. Otherwise there was not much to see. Inside the hut they found several clay jars, some containing oil and a couple with sand in the bottom, which Alagos said were what Megildur had used for the last couple of fires, a waterproof bag containing flint and tinder, the bed, and a tin cup with a faint scent of old wine. They never found the wineskin.

Elrond came down just after the stretcher bearers for a personal look at the scene. He glanced around frowning while they transferred Megildur from the bed. “I’d forgotten this place existed,” he admitted. “It promised to be a good source of limestone but shallow and the ground wasn’t secure. It was under water the first winter…. So he’s been coming here – why? And how did you find him?”

Glorfindel shook his head. “It was Lieutenant Elen, she remembered playing here as a child and realized it was convenient to all the fire sites. Somewhere to plan, prepare whatever equipment he was taking along, come back and remember…”

“Remember?”

Alagos held out a slate tile. “There’s a stack of things like this, my lord. All neatly in a corner. We think they come from the places he burned – this one is a tile from Beech Row, I recognize the design.”

Elrond turned it over in his hand, and his face cleared. “Ah, collecting mementos. From what I’ve read, that makes sense. The only thing we don’t know yet is why.”

“From what Alassëa said, he’s done this before. They’ve had to leave other places. Including Lindon.”

Elrond gave him a jaundiced look. “What you’re saying is I should run that past the king, isn’t it? He’ll get to be involved in this after all. Just what I didn’t want.”

“I’m afraid so, my lord,” Glorfindel said, fighting back a yawn. “Though you have a body up there, so I’m not sure there’s any way you could keep him out. In his place, I’d be curious too.”

\-----o

They collected everything from the hut, with Elen writing up each item before it was placed in one of the bags Beridhren brought back down with him. She also had Urúvion help her make sketches before anything was moved, in case there was a detail they later failed to agree on. Glorfindel wondered how necessary this all was as Megildur wouldn’t be there to argue about any of it, but it was good practice to stick to what passed for procedure – there was nothing in the Patrol’s rules yet to cover anything like this. All that would have to change now. Anyhow a file had to be opened for their records, and Gil-galad might ask to see it, so it was as well to be thorough.

Eventually they were done, everything bagged and removed, sketches complete. Elrond had long since gone back with Megildur’s body. They could do nothing about the blood, but nature would deal with it in time. Glorfindel was about to take the trail back up from the quarry when he saw Beridhren standing a short distance from the hut looking up at the trees. He went over and stood next to him. It was very peaceful, birds singing, insects buzzing, Elen telling someone off for not being careful enough with what he was carrying.

“That’s probably Urúvion,” Beridhren said. “Her way of saying she likes him.”

“I didn’t think she’d noticed,” Glorfindel admitted. “So, he’s not hoping in vain then?”

“Depends how much of an idiot he acts about it.”

Silence settled between them. A pale green butterfly wafted past, and Glorfindel caught a glimpse of a squirrel hurrying up a tree. Eventually he said, “Everything all right, Lieutenant?”

Beridhren hesitated. “Everything’s fine, sir. Quite all right. Only…” He stopped, and they watched two sparrows quarrel over something on a branch of one of the trees above the quarry. 

“Only?”

“Elves killing themselves, sir?” Beridhren rubbed the back of his neck, shook his head. “I’ve never heard such a thing, not anywhere. Surely the Call wouldn’t come for one who could do a thing like that?”

Glorfindel hadn’t thought of this: in Megildur’s place he wasn’t sure he would want to explain himself to Námo. “It’s not something we’re known for,” he said slowly. “I’ve heard of a few occasions when one partner died and the other chose that path above fading, back when there was no option to cross the sea. And there were some who couldn’t live with what they’d seen at Alqualondë, and probably at the other two kinslayings, though that would be outside my experience.” And Eöl had been suicide of a kind, though that was not something he was about to discuss.

“I suppose. I hadn’t thought of those sir, or knew about those who couldn’t face their memories. But this….”

“He was ill, Beridhren. He wasn’t thinking clearly and after he tried to kill his brother, I don’t suppose he saw much hope.”

Beridhren nodded, his face still concerned. “I suppose that’s how it was sir, yes. Just saw no hope left after all he’d done. As to why he did it – not well, no. Not well at all. Though I don’t know, the whole thing seems unelven somehow. It’s the kind of thing I’d expect from one of the Second Born, not one of us. They’re more likely to be hasty that way.”

Glorfindel put a hand on his shoulder. “Always something new to learn, isn’t there?” he said. “Come on, let’s get back to the office. Before Elen sends someone back to see if we got lost.”

\-----o

It was midday by the time he got back, and he still had to oversee them storing the evidence safely, write up the overtime Elen’s team had put in, and check with the current duty officer to make sure nothing else wanted his immediate attention. He could imagine how he looked and had an idea nothing less than an impending dragon attack would have rated ‘urgent’ by then. After that, he went to his rooms, walking slowly, and ignored the nagging voice that said he should go pay another visit to the barracks. Sidhiel, he reminded himself, knew her job. He let himself in and stood staring at his bed for a few minutes. Then he sighed, collected clean clothes and a towel, and went back out. With the best will in the world, he knew he couldn’t sleep without first taking a bath.

The baths were quiet at that time of the day, and he was lucky, there was no one around who knew him well enough to ask questions. He could feel eyes on him, but he had drawn attention for most of his life; it was easy to ignore. He used the private corner Elrond and the senior members of his household favoured and scrubbed the grime and blood off him. He also washed his hair, even though it meant going to sleep with it wet. When he was done he dried himself off vigorously, dressed, and took himself off back to his rooms. On the way he made a detour past the kitchen and threw his begrimed tunic and pants into the garbage: they were beyond salvaging. 

And then he fell into bed with his hair still wrapped in a towel and slept.

He was woken by someone shaking his shoulder. He kept his eyes shut and tried to pull away, but the shaking continued and then Elrond’s voice said close to his ear, “Glorfindel! Come on, wake up. You’re needed.”

Glorfindel groaned, rubbed his face in the pillow and then propped himself up on an elbow, his eyes still sleep-blind. The towel had come off while he slept and there was hair everywhere. He shoved it out his face and focused on Elrond standing beside the bed. The light coming in the window suggested it was still day – he assumed it was the same one. “What’s the time?” he asked, his voice rough with sleep.

“You’ve been out for about three hours,” Elrond told him. “I’m sorry, I know you’re exhausted, but you shouldn’t miss this. Denesion’s awake. I thought you’d want to be the one to question him. Perhaps now we’ll make sense of all this at last.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't judge me, I moved house and all. And before that there was Christmas and New Year. And family stuff. And this fic _will_ be finished before mid year. Just needs another chapter. Or two. Probably two.

Glorfindel forced himself out of bed and began to dress. The bitter scent of kaffee hung in the air and when he went to do his hair, he found Elrond had placed a cup on the dresser. Steam still rose from it. He took a sip and considered the challenge the mirror revealed. There was no time for careful teasing out of knots so instead he took the brush and started ripping at the nightmarish mess of snarls and tangles. Elrond, who had been out on the balcony looking at the river, came back in time to see this and shook his head.

“The last time I did that Maedhros caught me and asked how I thought I’d get on as a bald elf. Give me that.” Taking the brush from Glorfindel’s startled hand, he ignored objections and set to efficiently unravelling knots and bringing order to chaos. Glorfindel kept still and drank his kaffee, for once without a shudder. He still disliked the taste but had to admit it left his head clearer. By the time his hair had been pinned back with the first hair ornament Elrond saw, a simple jet clasp, he was feeling almost alert.

“Denesion will recover then? Has he said anything yet? And has he asked about his brother?”

Elrond stood back to admire his handiwork. “First thing he did was ask after his brother. That was before they sent for me, so by the time I arrived he’d been told. In a way it’s as well, it means we won’t have to deal with that first.”

Practical, Glorfindel thought. Just the kind of thing his great-grandfather might have come out with. But then Turgon, like all the royals he had ever met – and there had been quite a few - came with a ruthless streak. He thought some just disguised it better than others. He swallowed the last of the kaffee and they left his rooms, taking the direct route through the house to the infirmary. There were few people around, all busy with places to go and things to attend to before day’s end and no time for more than a curious glance. Elrond led the way briskly and Glorfindel followed, trying to push past the feeling of wading through deep water or emerging into too-bright sunlight. 

The infirmary had always struck him as a peaceful space but then what time he had spent there had mainly involved visiting warriors with broken limbs. Arriving with Elrond was a very different matter: there was a lot of bustling around and Elrond was stopped three times to deal with questions before they came to the side room where Denesion had been placed. As they reached the door, they heard voices. Glorfindel glanced at Elrond, who just shrugged and led the way in.

Denesion was propped up against pillows, his face almost as pale as the sheet itself. Alassëa sat on a stool beside the bed, a hand on his arm. Raina stood behind her with her arms crossed. This was the last place Glorfindel had thought to run into her, which must have been why he hadn’t recognized her voice at once. They all turned expectantly towards the door and Alassëa got up hastily, making a respectful little bob in Elrond’s direction. 

“What are you girls doing here?” Glorfindel asked, confused. It was directed at them both, but it was Raina he meant and the way she crinkled her nose at him said she knew it.

“Alassëa wanted to see how he was doing, but I wasn’t having her come alone,” she answered. “We’ve not upset him or anything. He is allowed visitors isn’t he, my lord?” she added, belatedly realizing that she was ignoring the senior healer and lord of the valley.

“As long as you don’t tire him,” Elrond assured her, giving Glorfindel a quizzical look.

“This is Alassëa, the young lady who was trapped in the storeroom with Denesion, my lord,” Glorfindel explained. “And Raina is – Raina assisted us with our inquiries. They’re friends.” It sounded a bit better than saying they worked together.

Elrond quirked an eyebrow but nodded. Glorfindel could almost hear him making a mental note of names and faces. Denesion meanwhile was staring straight ahead, his expression tense. Glorfindel turned his attention there and gave the half bow that had signified respect in Gondolin. No one did it now, it was probably looked on as cringingly old-fashioned. “Denesion, smith, my sympathies at your loss,” he said, falling back into Quenya for the formal expression of condolences.

Denesion studied his face somberly. “Thank you, my lord,” he said finally. “Were you there? I would like to know how my brother died and no one can tell me.”

Glorfindel slanted a look at Elrond. “I’m sorry, I was under the impression you already knew the details?”

“Oh, I was told some confused rubbish that made no sense,” Denesion snapped. Being critically injured seemed not to have improved his temper. “What I want to know is where and how and more importantly who killed my brother. And if it was one of your Valley Patrol incompetents…”

Alassëa patted his arm and made soothing noises. “He’s still in a lot of pain, my lord,” she said apologetically. “And very upset, of course.”

“Still hasn’t learned manners,” Raina muttered barely audibly. Alassëa glared at her, Glorfindel contained a smile.

Elrond was at the smith’s bedside now, checking the heart pulse at his wrist and then neck, eyes half closed while he concentrated. “When did you last have the willow tea? Ah, here’s Saeldur’s note. It must be near to wearing off, would you like something more for the pain, or…?

“That won’t be necessary, my lord.” Denesion’s voice was tight. “The pain draft makes me sleep. I do not want to sleep. I want answers. Who killed my brother? He was ill. Could no one understand he was ill? He should have been helped, not hounded like an animal.”

“The heavy draft laced with poppy is for when you need to sleep,” Elrond went on calmly as though Denesion hadn’t spoken. “A lighter dose will keep the pain at bay and help you answer questions with a clear mind.”

“Questions? My lord, I think you are mistaken. It is I who have questions!”

“Denesion, I’m sure Lord Elrond will explain it all,” Alassëa said softly, her hand on his shoulder urging him to lie back. “But he’s right, it will be easier if you take something for the pain first.”

“I think it would help if you could explain a bit more about Megildur,” Glorfindel said, keeping his tone non-confrontational despite the insult to his people. “The fires, how long has this been going on?”

“He wasn’t well. Since when do we kill elves who are - disturbed, who need compassion, guidance?” Denesion demanded, agitated. 

“We don’t,” Elrond replied flatly. “But we tend not to indulge arson and attempted murder – and fratricide – so you’ll forgive me if I’m a little short on compassion right now.”

“And so you killed him.” Denesion tried to straighten up again, but fell back against the pillows, wincing.

“He killed himself, Denesion.” Glorfindel was reluctant to be so blunt but either the smith hadn’t understood the details of his brother’s death or refused to accept them. He tried to recall whose house Denesion’s family had fallen under in Gondolin, some point of connection to address him from, but wasn’t sure – it could have been Salgast’s. “We had no way of stopping him. By the time we found his hiding place, he was already dead by his own hand. There was no intent on our part to harm him, just contain.”

“And you expect me to believe that? Elves do not take their own lives, _my lord_.”

“Course they do,” a voice from the doorway said easily. “What do you call that thing with Maedhros and the Silmaril? Sorry, Elrond, but a fact’s a fact.”

Gil-galad was in holiday mode. He wore a casual blue robe with a loose belt of silver links that might or might not have been mithril and no crown or sign of rank; his dark, wavy hair was loose, tucked casually behind his ears. He could almost have passed for a visiting scholar or healer had it not been for the very good boots with decorative buckles and the ruby on his middle finger, carved with an intricate seal. Glorfindel noticed it at once because he had seen it before, long ago in Gondolin on another king’s hand. That final night came back to him and he shivered, wondering how it had survived. Idril, he supposed.

Elrond was saying, “I think that was a more complex matter than this?” The half-elf had straightened up at Gil-galad’s arrival and Glorfindel hastily shook off the past and was about to salute, circled fingers to forehead, but the king pressed his arm briefly as he passed in an unmistakable instruction to be still. He gave Elrond a charming grin, then came to a halt at Denesion’s bedside and looked down. “Denesion, is it?” he asked. “From Gondolin originally, yes?”

Denesion hesitated. He clearly had no idea who this was or why he should answer him. All he would see was a tall, well-built elf with a lot of dark hair and friendly blue eyes, a stranger who was of sufficient stature to call Elrond Eärendilion by his given name. He looked a quick question at Alassëa, who still had her hand on his arm. Glorfindel wondered at it, but decided that being trapped in a burning building was as likely a way as any to bring people closer. Raina, nobody’s fool, gave the newcomer a shrewd look and retreated to a spot closer to the window. 

Alassëa smiled encouragement and Denesion relaxed slightly. “From Gondolin, yes,” he replied at last. “A smith by profession. Sir.”

Gil-galad’s interest was kindled. “A smith? I wasn’t told that. We lost too many skilled craftsmen in Gondolin and Eregion, each one who survived is precious. Mind if I sit?” he added, gesturing to the bed. Without waiting for a reply he sat down on the edge, which dipped alarmingly, and leaned over to pick up the notes left by the attending healer. “Huh. Had that before. Gave me a head like I’d been guzzling dwarf brandy. But it works. Your brother – he was your brother, yes? You say he was ill? What happened, was there no one you could go to for help?”

His voice and body language seemed genuinely sympathetic. Denesion took a breath and released it. “He would get enraged if I suggested there was anything wrong. And if I tried speaking to anyone, a healer or someone like that, I had no idea what they would do to him – shut him away somewhere perhaps. He would have gone mad. He is – he was my brother, we were all that was left of our family.”

Elrond caught Glorfindel’s eye and gave a miniscule shrug in Gil-galad’s direction. Glorfindel, who thought the king was doing a decent job of it, nodded. Elrond moved back to the bedside before his cousin could take over completely. “Hopefully they would have tried to heal him, not simply confine him. That would depend on the situation. Did his – activities - only start recently, or…?”

Denesion picked at the bed cover, his face tense again now he was dealing with Elrond. “Not exactly, no. No. There was trouble in Eregion and we had to go back to Lindon, and then it happened again there… This was meant to be a new start.”

“What happened in Eregion? Also fires?” Elrond asked. “In Lindon, too?”

“Smaller fires. Someone in Eregion...” Denesion stopped, and Alassëa drew protectively closer. “They spotted him and there was a fight. He – the other person was injured. It seemed wise to leave before there were questions. He was just defending himself,” he added sharply. “Not something he went out and looked for.”

Elrond’s expression was impossible to read. “Things happen, sometimes they get out of hand. And from there – Lindon?”

“Back to Lindon, yes. Not Mithlond this time, Harlond. And for a while I thought he’d calmed down, found a kind of peace. His girl died the night Gondolin fell, he saw her running, screaming, with her clothes ablaze... he dreamed about that for years. When the nightmares stopped I thought – I hoped there’d been a change. But at the end – there was someone at the market who did me out of a sale and I said something in the heat of the moment and… we’d needed that money, been relying on it. Afterwards, he said they’d had their due. And the dreams came back.”

“Was that the fire that took out the entire seafront market?” Gil-galad asked, looking up from the healer’s notes. His tone was neutral. “It burned for three days, thanks to the wind.”

“That was unintentional. It was only meant to be one shop he said, but the wind…”

“Yes, of course.” Elrond took his cue from Gil-galad and offered no judgement. “And I understand you coming here, far enough to feel you’d left it all behind. That would be just after the war, when things opened up here, am I right?”

“It was to be a fresh start,” Denesion said tersely. “We agreed. And there was work for a smith, and Megildur isn’t - wasn’t - a bad carpenter. I thought he would find someone who needed a craftsman, but … he never settled into getting work, wouldn’t help me in the shop either. And it’s a closed circle down at the forge, smiths who’ve known each other for years, some from Eregion - one remembered me from Ost-in-Edhil, I was lucky he didn’t connect me to what happened there. But I was working against a cooperative and I – may have passed comments about it now and then? And he listened, even when we were fighting about him getting a job or me making better sales. I thought he was all right though, I never realized – had I realized, I would have chosen my words. I never meant for… I should have known people might get hurt… I never meant for that to happen.”

“May I ask a question?” Glorfindel said into the pause that followed. Denesion started, he seemed to have forgotten there was anyone else in the room. “With respect to you, Alassëa, but – Denesion, you tried to strangle this girl. I’m still trying to understand why?” It might not be important in the greater scheme of things, but it bothered him, especially now that Alassëa seemed to have quite forgotten.

Denesion looked down, began plucking at the bed cover again. “She’s a kind girl and has been a good friend, I – should not have done that and I have apologized. I don’t know what came over me. I was overwrought and not sleeping and trying to keep an eye on what he was getting up to, and then I realized she knew I had been at the fire - which I was, looking for him. And I thought it could only be a matter of time before she mentioned it and someone connected us or – possibly thought I was responsible. And my nerve snapped.”

At least for once he was not blaming someone else, nor saying it was somehow the girl’s own fault. 

“It’s a hard task, trying to keep a family member out of trouble,” Gil-galad said, putting the notes back. “I suppose you said something to him, and that’s when this got ugly?”

It seemed Denesion was more comfortable talking to a stranger. His face grew animated. “I warned him, I said it could get traced back to him through me, that I had no idea who she might talk to and it had to stop. And when Glorfindel -- _Lord_ Glorfindel – made it clear he knew there had been an incident between Alassëa and myself, I spoke firmly with Megildur. Too firmly I suppose. I – told him it had to end or this time I would go to the authorities. People were getting hurt and I was – I was also ashamed for frightening her. The rest – well, they know the rest.” He gestured towards Elrond, wincing at the movement. “Better than I do. After he stabbed me, nothing is very clear. Just Alassëa talking to me, trying to keep me conscious.”

“And that had its part in your survival,” Elrond said, reaching for his wrist again. “I think this is enough for now, unless you have more questions, Glorfindel?” He was careful not to look Gil-galad’s way.

Glorfindel shook his head. “No, I’m sure Denesion needs to rest. I just wanted to understand something of the background, that’s all. Many of the answers are closed to us now. As long as Alassëa’s satisfied…?” 

Alassëa looked startled, as though she had not thought her opinion would matter. “My lord, we talked and --- his brother was very sick, as he said, and it’s important to look after family, it’s what we do. And he was overwrought when he, when he frightened me. I truly believe that because no one in their right senses would have done such a thing. And later he tried to help me and nearly died for it… My lord, that’s what matters most to me.”

Glorfindel looked into sincere eyes, hesitated and then nodded. He would have been less forgiving, but this was Alassëa’s decision, not his. “Fair enough. Then yes, I think we’re finished here, my lord.”

Gil-galad got to his feet and nodded to Denesion. “Good to have an answer to that mess at Forlond market anyhow. I’m sorry it ended like this for you, smith. Coming to Elrond for help would have saved a world of pain, of course, but hindsight never changed a word that went before.”

He turned away before Denesion could finally ask his name. Glorfindel let everyone else drift away towards the door, including Alassëa who Elrond had firmly told to go and get some rest, then went over to the bed. Denesion had his eyes closed now, and his face was waxy-pale, but he sensed someone still close by and opened them again. “I’m sorry,” Glorfindel said. “I understand your anger, and I hope we can talk more when you’ve had time to rest and heal. If not, well that would be your right. But I need you to know there was nothing we could do to help your brother, none of us thought for a moment that he would harm himself.”

Denesion stared at him coldly. “In the end he was hunted like a rabid animal,” he said in a thin voice. “We have nothing to discuss, my lord. What’s done is done.”

“He might have thought it better than having to face the consequences of his actions, Denesion,” Glorfindel said quietly. “In the end, it was the path he chose.”

Denesion closed his eyes and Glorfindel retreated. Raina, whom he had not noticed waiting by the window, walked out with him. It was only when they reached the porch outside that he realized she was shaking. Thinking she was upset he stopped. “Raina…?”

“He blames you?” Her voice was a hiss of outrage. “His brother destroyed people’s homes, almost killed him and Alassëa, silly little Alassëa who would never hurt a fly, and burned down my home, but somehow it’s your fault that useless piece of… of dung killed himself? How dare he! People like that – they have to be stopped, there has to be something like the Patrol to go after them. Even if it _does_ mean hunting them down like animals.”

“Maybe there aren’t others like Megildur, Raina,” he said, trying to keep the hopeful note out of his voice. Elrond and Gil-galad had slowed and were looking back, waiting for him, obviously curious. “The loss of his love in Gondolin…”

Raina gave him a very serious look, without her usual attitude and bravado. “I don’t care who died. Hundreds, maybe thousands of us have lost family, people we’ve loved, and don't carry on like that. But still, he wasn’t a freak of nature, my lord. Where there’s one there have to be others. That’s the only reason I’m sorry he did what he did – now there aren’t any answers. You need to learn about this sort of thing, so if there’s a next time, you’ll be ready.” 

Elrond and the king were moving off now. Raina stopped, her eyes on Gil-galad’s back. “That’s the king, isn’t it?” she asked, dropping her voice to a whisper.

Glorfindel, still taking in what she had just said, shot a glance towards them and then back to her. “Yes, that’s Ereinion Gil-galad. It’s just as well you said nothing back there, he wanted to be anonymous.”

“He’s so tall and strong,” she murmured. “And that smile. So…”

“Raina!” 

She giggled and was herself again. “No harm done, my lord. A girl can dream.”

\-----o

“The fire in Forlond market burned for three days, destroyed the livelihood of dozens and cost us five lives,” Gil-galad said, his earlier affability gone. 

They were on Elrond’s favourite balcony sharing a plate of pastries from the kitchen and a pot of tea because Gil-galad disliked kaffee, for which Glorfindel was grateful. He would have liked to go straight to the Patrol’s offices and write up notes about the interview with Denesion while it was all fresh in his mind, but Elrond thought this was a good time to look back at recent events and learn from them. The walk back had been quiet, and neither of them was prepared for Gil-galad’s sudden sharpness. 

“And no one had any idea who was behind it?” Elrond asked, eyebrows up.

Gil-galad scowled at him. “At the time there was no proof it was deliberate.”

“No one suspected Megildur until he tried and failed to kill two people,” Glorfindel pointed out. He planned to go back over every note, every single report to see if there were clues they had missed and should have seen, but the truth was until Alassëa disappeared, they had nothing to work with. Raina had a point: there was a need to be better prepared.

Elrond sighed. “Yes, I know. It’s just frustrating that he managed to operate so openly and yet no one suspected him.”

“Except his brother, of course,” Glorfindel said. “What do you want done about that, my lord? Denesion has to take some share of the blame for all this.”

Elrond opened his mouth but Gil-galad, swallowing tea hastily, shook his head. “Let it be,” he said when he had finished coughing. “What would you do with him? Force him to compensate everyone his brother harmed? He would be working for yeni before he made a dent in that and no one can bring back dead dreams – or dead elves. Things happened that he could have prevented. Living with the knowledge should be its own punishment. Anyhow, the law is vague about consequences there. Needs to be looked at, I suppose.”

“It goes against the grain to just let it go,” Elrond said with a frown. He was not happy. He would probably have felt better with some kaffee, Glorfindel thought irreverently.

“I know, Elrond, but sometimes it’s better so,” Gil-galad said. He put his cup down and leaned forward. “Look at it this way. What do you gain by punishing him? Will it teach him to be a better citizen? Will it teach him to have a greater care for others’ welfare? Or will it be for revenge, because the true culprit has gone beyond reach? I don’t see the use of it. He made a serious error, but it’s not one he would repeat. Either he sees the enormity of it, or not. Nothing changes. I’m not about retribution, never have been. I lost people, yes, but he never set the fire and that would not bring them back. Glorfindel?”

Glorfindel, who had assumed the matter was out of his hands, had relaxed back in his chair and let the conversation flow past him. He had to force his mind to the problem. “Sire, those here most hurt by this are the ones who’ve lost their homes – including Erestor and his people - but the one with the most right to have a say would be Alassëa. She almost lost her life. And I think she would want things left as they are. Not just because she seems to have developed an – affection – for Denesion, but because everything I’ve heard and seen suggests she is that kind of person.” He paused and added, “Erestor would possibly like to see him strung up by his heels though.”

“Probably want to do the stringing up himself,” Gil-galad said with a fond grin. “Very well. I’ll take that as agreement. No charges, Elrond. Though when he’s stronger I’d like another talk with him, formally this time. Make sure he understands what his silence cost. After that, it’s for him to live with. I’ll be interested to see what he does, if anything, to try and make amends.”

\-----o

The shadows were long and the sun had already sunk out of sight by the time they finished. Glorfindel took a slow walk back to the Patrol’s offices, detouring through the floral wilderness that passed for the official garden, which Elrond claimed was deliberately understated, nothing to do with things being shoved randomly into the soil and left to find their own way after the manner of the Nandor, who liked flowers around their homes but would never regulate natural growth. They looked at the formal gardens of the Noldor with something akin to horror. 

When he came out into the side courtyard, a grassy area with a few benches and shade trees, a favourite place to meet friends for lunch or at the end of the day, he found the Flamingo people had taken it over. They sat or sprawled on the grass in a rough half circle facing a bench. Erestor sat in front of the bench, his back against it, with one leg drawn up, his arms locked round it. He sported an incongruously formal pearl headband from which long strands fell, glinting against his dark hair. Glorfindel could only assume it was salvage. The Avari sat on the bench, upright and grim. Beside him was a large tin box, which might have been the one Glorfindel had seen Erestor carrying away from the fire – had it really only been the previous night, he wondered. 

The gathering was not quiet. There were several people talking at once and a couple had even risen to their knees to make their point. Erestor replied to something and had easily half the crowd disagreeing vociferously. Glorfindel heard Raina before he saw her, waving her arm to get Erestor’s attention. Alfrinor was next to her, looking as though he would rather not be. Glorfindel could understand that.

For a moment, just a moment, he was tempted to go over and find out what it was all about and why they had chosen to meet there of all places, but it was their affair, not his. He could only imagine they were discussing their shared future after the loss of the house and potentially their livelihood. Erestor might tell him what had been said later. Or not. He never knew what to expect with Erestor. 

He was skirting that part of the courtyard when he caught the Avari watching him. Their eyes met briefly. Nods were exchanged. Then the Avari gave his full attention back to his people and Glorfindel took the laneway that would lead him round to the other side of the building and out near his destination.

The Patrol’s main office was busy, half the people were probably looking for information about the day’s events. As he had hoped, Belethiel was still hanging around. Her face lit up when he beckoned her over and gave her a list of names. She frowned at it, lips moving as she sounded them out. Glorfindel sighed. 

“If you want me to read it for you, it’s all right, Belethiel.”

“I can read it fine, sir,” she said determinedly. “There was no time for me to learn when I was smaller, but I know my sounds now. My father says the Patrol won’t take me if I can’t read anyhow.”

This was only half true but Glorfindel guessed her father’s intention and nodded. “It’s an important skill, yes. I’m glad you’re learning. Now, read them back to me – I want you to go find each of them and ask them to meet me outside, where we had dinner a while ago. They’ll know where.”

Bright hazel eyes pinned him intently. “Are they in trouble, sir? Even the lieutenants?”

“No one’s in trouble,” Glorfindel assured her. “We need to debrief, that’s all. And it’s probably the last of the mild dusks before the weather turns, so why waste it? Go, before they start dinner.”

He organized cups and a couple of jugs of wine from the kitchen while he gave her time to carry out her errand, then went to wait on the grass where they had shared their meal, ‘after the style of the old days’, as Lagion had described it. He hadn’t long to wait. They all arrived together, except for Alagos, having met up along the way. Glorfindel, sitting with his back to the tree that grew outside his office window, gestured them to sit. “There’s wine over there," he told them. "Get yourselves comfortable. Who’s missing, just Alagos?”

“I’m here, sir,” Alagos said, rounding the corner. “Just went to check the schedule. I thought I was on tonight?”

“I’ve given you all the night off,” Glorfindel told him. “Tomorrow too, if you’d like. Help yourself to the wine.”

“Are we in some kind of trouble, sir?” Elen asked, echoing Belethiel.

Glorfindel shook his head and looked around at them: the setup made him think of Erestor and his people earlier, which almost made him smile. They all seemed impossibly young, in part because that was what he expected – he was feeling his age tonight. “No one’s in trouble, and this is to try and prevent that from happening later.” 

“This is about what happened today, is it sir?” Beridhren asked. He was swirling the wine in his cup slowly, not watching what he was doing, probably not even aware. It was a thinking kind of gesture, not deliberate.

Glorfindel nodded, tilting his cup to them and taking a small sip – his wine was watered because he didn’t trust his head after so little sleep. “Today we had an experience that wasn’t just new to you, it would be new to most elves, and upsetting, and I know I found it unsettling – death by one’s own hand is not often an elven path, though the king did point out that it isn’t unheard of. And I thought, this being something we shared, that we should take a little time to talk about it, put it in perspective if you like. If anyone has questions or thoughts or feels discomfort about what happened today, now’s the time to raise it, here with just those of us who were involved. Who wants to go first?”

No one said a word for a while, instead they went through the motions of drinking the wine to keep their hands busy and tried to avoid eye contact. Eventually Suiadan cleared his throat. “I don’t know about anyone else, sir,” he said, “but what I can’t get out of my head is the way the birds stopped singing for a while there. Like they knew. And yet we didn’t.”

“And we should have,” Elen said quickly, barely concealing her relief that someone else had noticed this as well. “We’re elves, sir. Shouldn’t we have felt a life ending, a fëa passing? He was one of our own, no matter what he’d done. How could we not know?”

Urúvion sat forward and chimed in, eager to point out the trees, too, had fallen silent. Glorfindel could relax a little now that they had engaged. He sat quietly with his wine, doing nothing to draw attention. Not this early. Later, when they had shared the things that most upset or worried them about the experience he would try and help them make sense of it all, find a way to put it to rest. Not that he was an expert of course, but he had seen elven lives lost from Alqualondë and on the Helcaraxë through to the end of Gondolin: at least it gave him somewhere to start.

**Author's Note:**

> Sort of unbeta'd, don't judge me.
> 
> Update:  
> Beta: Red Lasbelin.  
> Yes, I know. I am making my recipient beta her own gift. It has to be a very old, very good friendship before you can take shameless advantage like this.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Erestor; the Whip Master](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9474851) by [Mawgy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mawgy/pseuds/Mawgy)




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